Camera Shy
by Aisukuri-Mu Studio
Summary: .:C:. "To ensure the safe performance of all authorized activities, do not destroy Vital Testing Apparatus." "Aw, shut up," Edward retorted, lowering the gun. He kicked the now-broken surveillance camera for good measure. "I'll destroy whatever the heck I want to." FMA/Portal Crossover
1. Chapter 1

**Test Subject: **Edward Elric  
**Day: **1  
**Time: **9:48 a.m.  
**Location: **Relaxation Vault  
**Testing Progress: **Initiated  
_ -Aperture Laboratories_

* * *

The first thing Edward was aware of upon waking up was the fact that there was music playing somewhere close by. His second thought was, _Huh, it's kind of catchy. _His third: _Wait, what the heck—what's going on?_

Because it's not every day you wake up and slide out of bed only to realize your bed was, in fact, a pod of some sort.

_I _definitely _don't remember falling asleep in that._

Edward also quickly took note of his legs—they weren't functioning properly. Or something like that. At first, he had passed it off as some sort of aftereffect of the gasses that he assumed he had been given (it didn't take long for him to assume he'd been kidnapped; it's not like it hadn't happened before), but when he looked down, he quickly determined it was _not _that.

He had braces.

On his legs.

…_what?_

He tried to jiggle them off. Shook his legs one at a time to see if that would do anything—but the things were bound tight. He tried poking them with his hands, following their machinery and trying to figure out what they did—because what the heck; his legs worked just fine, thank you. He didn't need _braces_. He even had _automail._

Which—that was when he realized, a bit belatedly, that he was, in fact, _not _wearing his normal attire.

"…ew. Who decided on the _orange_?"

Picking on the chest of his jacket even as his eyes took in the identical shade of bright, eccentric orange on his pants, Edward finally decided that this must all have been some sort of weird dream. The music, the orange, the room that even had a freakin' toilet in it, all encompassed in glass—yep. This was just a joke by his tricky subconscious. Nothing to see here.

Then, She began to speak.

"Hello, and again, welcome to the Aperture Science Computer-Aided Enrichment Center."

…wait, what?

"We hope your brief detention in the relaxation vault has been a pleasant one."

Is that where he was? Edward took a second glance around his chamber, suddenly thinking that maybe he should have checked it out more—especially that now-annoying radio in the corner—if it all really _was…_real.

"Your specimen has been processed—"

"—Wait, huh? What does _that _mean?" Edward pressed, jerked out of his thoughts and suddenly worried for certain parts of his anatomy.

"—and we are now ready to begin the test proper."

Test? What test? What?

_If this is some sort of joke on Mustang's behalf, he is _SO _going to get it, _the boy grouched.

"Before we start, however, keep in mind that although fun and learning are the primary goals of the enrichment center activities, serious injuries may occur. For your own safety, and the safety of others, please refrain from—"

Something weird happened. That was all Edward knew. Instead of saying something _beneficial_, helpful, maybe even a wise piece of advice to keep himself safe from whatever "test" he was about to endure, all that came from the invisible speakers was a strange _whirring_, garbled mess that made, unfortunately, absolutely no sense.

…_shit. That was probably important, too._

And wait—was that another language in there, too, among the distortion? What the crap?

Looking up, wincing at the harshness of the suddenly dimming lights, he noticed for the first time the digital clock above the door to his glass-room. It was counting down—now from eight seconds. Now from seven. Now six…

_Wait, counting down to what?_

"—I'm back."

The lights returned to their full brightness and Edward winced, taking a step back. _Man, _those things were bright.

"The portal will open in three."

…portal?

"Two."

"Um…" Edward looked around. Should he hide? Take cover? _What was it he was supposed to do?_

"One."

Acting purely on instinct, the blonde boy ducked down, covering his head with his arms as he clenched himself into as tight of a ball as possible. Hopefully, this would protect him from whatever onslaught was coming, he figured—or maybe if the ground was going to open up right from below him, he'd be in a safety position so as to protect himself whenever he landed—

—but nothing happened.

Perplexed, confused, and feeling a bit like an idiot—_hopefully there aren't any cameras around so they could see that—_Edward peeked up and, for some reason he couldn't explain, looked back at the door to his room.

Oh.

_That _portal.

…okay.

Shakily, Edward got to his feet, navigating himself (those braces were _still weird_) to the orange-rimmed hole that hadn't been there before. _Do people around here just _like _the color orange?_

The hole seemed harmless enough. What Edward _wasn't _prepared for, upon walking through, was the strange sense of vertigo that churned his stomach as soon as he stepped out on the other side. It was as if in that split-second of a step, he had gone through a roller coaster, whipped through before he could even breathe.

So it made sense that he stumbled a bit upon exiting his room, feeling slightly nauseous…right?

_No. No, this doesn't make sense at all. Where the crap _am _I?_

Because now, instead of just _outside _of that glass-room—he was _standing in front of it. _Facing it, from a completely different wall than what he could have sworn he exited from.

_What's going on? How did I—?_

But nothing could explain it. That was, however, when he noticed the camera in the corner of this outer-room, perched on the wall, small black orb focused on him. The sudden appearance of the contraption made goosebumps travel up and down the boy's back.

These cameras, after all, weren't like Maes'.

_Am I…being tested on? Is _that _what they meant by 'test'? Am I an experiment?_

Edward didn't like the word. He frowned, before marching as best as he could straight up to the camera—seeing out of the corner of his eye a distorted, one-way glass so that he couldn't look inside, but whoever was inside could definitely look out, and deciding he disliked _that, _too—and shouting, "Mustang, cut this out. This is _stupid. _I don't remember signing up for this!"

But there wasn't an answer.

Edward huffed. "I mean it, Mustang. Cut it out!"

Still nothing.

Edward's face reddened in frustration. "You're a _jerk _and _you know _it! Get your face out of your butt and stop it! I have _work _to do!"

When nothing more happened, Edward finally threw his hands up. Okay. Fine. _Whatever_. If Mustang wanted to play, he would play.

And he would show that sorry Lieutenant Colonel up, too.

Turning, Edward marched over to the only exit in the entire room—which was really nothing more than a small hole in the wall, with what looked to be two sliding doors pulled to their sides so he could pass through.

For good measure, he called out over his shoulder as he walked through, "This better not be a sleight against—well—_you better not be making fun of me, okay? _Then I'll _really _kill you!"

What Edward failed to notice, though, was the large lit sign with two zeroes on it that had been right beside his "relaxation vault." If he did, he might have noticed the two little images on the bottom that would have served to helpfully notify him of any and all dangers that resided in the upcoming test chamber.

Boxes falling from the sky really could hurt, after all.

* * *

Lieutenant Colonel Roy Mustang had been reading a misplaced report of missing persons when the call came in. At first, he ignored it—hadn't even been aware it was ringing—but then Hawkeye shouted his name, and when he saw her pointed sherry gaze dig into his own ebony one before gesturing to the telephone on his desk, he immediately answered it to save himself a bullet-hole.

"Lieutenant Colonel Mustang," he greeted dryly.

"Ah—Lieutenant Colonel? Hi, Sir. It's Alphonse."

From the how nervous the boy sounded, Mustang feared the worst. He pinched the bridge of his nose to ward off the forecasted headache. "How much damage did Fullmetal cause this time?"

"Damage…? Oh! U-um…none…actually." Even Alphonse sounded surprised.

Mustang felt relief wash over him at that, leaning back in his chair in a more reclined state as he passed a hand through his dark hair. "Okay, then. So if that's not what you're calling to report, then what is it?"

"I…I think something's happened to Brother."

Mustang frowned. Okay, so maybe he should take that seriously. But despite how much he wanted to acknowledge the boy's worry as genuine… "Alphonse, last time you told me that, it turned out he had just gotten stuck in a tree after trying to help some old lady get her cat down."

"I—I know, but—I—I _really_ think something's wrong this time."

The dark-haired man ran his hand down his face, sighing. "And what makes you think that?"

"Um…this'll sound weird…but it's because his bed is made."

Of all the clues Mustang had ever been given as to the abduction of a fellow officer—a _made bed_, not that he could ever recall at least, had never been given before. It struck him at first as so bizarre, so strange, that he couldn't help but burst out laughing.

This, of course, only worried Alphonse even more. "I—I know it's silly, but I'm really being honest! His entire half of the room is cleaned up and put away—and Brother _never_ does that! I _always_ have to do it for him!"

Mustang had to take the phone away from his ear and actually set it on the desk, let himself get out the hysterics first, before he could bring the receiver back up and take the rest of the conversation in an at least semi-serious fashion. He cleared his throat. "Okay, so…aside from that." Snicker, snicker; shoulder shake. "When was the last time you saw him?"

"In his bed, this morning. I left to go get him some breakfast, and when I came back to our hotel room, he was gone, but all his stuff was here, and everything was clean."

Mustang frowned, looking at his watch. He sighed. "Alphonse, it's only ten o'clock over there in the west, right? So, he might have gotten up to find you or something and got distracted. It wouldn't be the first time."

"But—but—"

"—if he doesn't show up by tomorrow, call me again, and we'll see what we can do, okay?"

A sigh. "…okay…"

The Lieutenant Colonel nodded. "All right, then. I'll talk to you later, Alphonse."

"Talk to you later, Lieutenant Colonel."

Pushing out of his guilty mind how despondent the armored boy sounded, Mustang ended the call and returned his attention idly to the missing persons report that _should _have been given to Lieutenant Colonel Mustard over in West City instead of Mustang in East City.

_Huh. That's where Alphonse and Ed are right now, too._

With a shrug, he tossed it to the corner of his desk. He'd mess with resending it—this time to the proper address—later. After all, it was only a couple of homeless and unemployed people who were missing. So it wasn't _that _pressing of a matter…right?

* * *

Luckily, the sound of a box hitting the ground was the only thing that scared Edward—because _dang it, _that was loud.

Upon straightening up from the second safety-crouching position he had gotten into today, Edward gazed at the giant red button under his feet and then back at the new giant box that had landed against the wall on the far side of the room with idle fascination.

_Huh. So _that's _what it does._

His eyes traveled to the clear tube that had deposited the box, before also transitioning to the opposite wall, where another circle-door had just opened up as a result of stepping on the button, too.

So…okay; making boxes appear was great and all, but what now?

Frowning, Edward walked towards the open door—only to find out, much to his displeasure, that upon stepping off the button, the doors closed (and the once-orange lights beside it turned blue, too), leaving him trapped inside.

…well, then.

Edward eyed the box still on the other side of the room.

It _looked_ big enough…

Ten seconds later found Edward placing said box on the giant red button, opening the door for good—much to his pride.

He stood back and grinned, but didn't get much time to gloat over his handiwork. Apparently, She thought he was smart, too.

"Excellent," the voice over the speakers said suddenly, nearly startling the boy into a third safety-crouch. He yelped, but kept himself from doing so, listening as She continued, "Please proceed into the chamber-lock after completing each test."

Chamber-lock? Edward looked to the room beyond the door he had just opened. What, was _that_ it?

"First, however, note the incandescent particle field across the exit. This Aperture Science Material Emancipation Grille will vaporize any unauthorized equipment that passes through it. For instance, the Aperture Science Weighted Storage Cube."

Edward shook his head, bringing a hand up to rub his forehead even as he walked on through the open door way and into the next chamber—which held, before a large round elevator, the aforementioned "Emancipation Grille." He sighed, stopping in front of it. It _looked_ real enough, at least. There definitely were strange particles floating around in the screen-like doorway, but upon sticking his automail hand through it, nothing happened, except for a faint buzzing noise. He flexed his fingers in the strange field.

_Gotta hand it to you, Mustang. This is one elaborate hoax._

Walking through the grille was different than walking through the portals, Edward decided. Instead of a feeling of vertigo, there was a strange—and not entirely unpleasant—shock that pulsed through his system as he passed by.

Which…was interesting, he supposed.

And for the first time, it made Edward wonder—_What if Mustang's _really _not behind this?_

But then the elevator doors shut behind him, and with a jolt, the lift began to raise, lights dimming once more—_Oh gosh, how old _is _this thing?_—before coming to a stop and opening up to an entirely new, tall, steel hallway shortly after.

With growing uncertainty, Edward slowly got off.

_This _definitely _doesn't look like anything at Headquarters._

The more he kept walking, the less of a hindrance those braces were turning out to be. He could almost walk normally by now, and even jerked to the side instinctively upon a large sign suddenly coming to life as soon as he neared it—this one, featuring a giant "01."

…okay…

The hallway, Edward found after he dismissed the enormous sign and continued going on, ended abruptly, opening up into a giant room beyond that was two-stories tall and surrounded by glass. Through the glass, he could see three other small rectangular rooms—one on each side of the center one he faced.

Which, unfortunately, he had to jump _down_ into.

_What, no steps? _Edward scoffed, squatting down as best he could (_stupid braces_) to get close to the floor of the hallway. _Someone doesn't have common courtesy._

Clapping his hands, he was about to place them against the floor to create some stairs of his own—when suddenly, She began speaking again.

"Please refrain from all uses of alchemy while inside the test chamber."

Edward frowned, finding of all things, this rule particularly bizarre. No alchemy? "…in case you haven't noticed, I can't exactly jump down from here. That's like…nine feet. I'd break my foot, thank you."

"The Aperture Science Laboratories would like to remind you that the prototype long-fall boots issued to you at the start of your testing have been proven to prevent injury usually attained from a fall of up to 1,200 meters."

…what?

Edward looked at the braces on his feet. "…you mean _these stupid things_?"

No response.

"Does that mean 'yes?'"

Still nothing.

With an exasperated sigh, the blonde-haired boy reluctantly got to his feet. "You know, you're not very helpful," he called out, just in case—y'know—whoever was speaking to him could hear him, even though the voice sounded as if it were electronic, like a robot—but that wasn't possible for all this dialogue to just be an automated message…was it?

_Well, I guess we'll find out eventually. Because I am _so _going to meet up with whoever is in charge of this place and give them a piece of my mind._

Holding his breath, Edward took a leap of faith and jumped.

And to his surprise…he almost didn't notice when he landed.

He felt almost no rebound—hardly any jolt on his automail and flesh leg—and nearly fell backward at the shock of the shockless landing. Stumbling, almost disoriented, he waved his arms around, eyes wide as he regained his balance.

_Whoa. That really _did _work._

"Aperture Science Laboratories would like to take this opportunity to say, 'I told you so.'"

…what the crap?

"Hey!" Edward shouted, fist shaking at the ceiling—or wherever the heck this mysterious voice was coming from. "I do _not _appreciate the sarcasm! Be—"

"—Please place the Weighted Storage Cube on the 1500 megawatt Aperture Science Heavy Duty Super-Colliding Super-Button."

…wait, what?

"Was that supposed to be English?" Edward griped, even as he turned around and saw another one of those orange-rimmed portals in front of him, showing a large red button. In fact, the same button that he could see through the glass in the left-side outer-room—so, in two places at once—somehow.

_How do those 'portals' even work?_ Edward groaned, pulling on his braid. For some reason, just tugging on that one familiarity in the midst of all this strangeness was comforting. _I mean, I think I understand that I walk through and somehow walk out somewhere else—like teleportation—but how does that even _happen? _How are they doing this?_

At that moment, the portal shifted and revealed something new on the other side—a short white hallway with another closed round-door at the end.

Edward, shocked, turned around.

There—on the other side of the glass—there, too, was that _same hallway._

_Is it…switching on me…?_

The portal changed. This time, it was the room on the right being shown—and this one held another one of those boxes.

Without thinking, _something, _somehow, clicking in his brain, Edward darted forward, the nausea washing over him quick and brief as he passed through. He grabbed the box as fast as he could, dashing right back out through the portal—_ugh, _again that dizziness swept over him, but it wasn't as bad as the first time—and into the center room.

When he turned around and saw the portal change to the room with the red button again, he couldn't help but smile.

_I think I've figured you out._

His pace was calmer, now—slower, but still hurried to place the box on the button and get back out before the portal changed (he had no idea what would happen if he should get stuck in one of the rooms because the center portal moved on; wait for the portal to be reopened again, he supposed? _Ugh, that would suck; I hate waiting_).

As soon as he exited the room now with the box and button, She began speaking again, dry and mechanical as ever.

"Perfect. Please move quickly to the chamber-lock, as the effects of prolonged exposure to the button are not part of this test."

Edward shrugged, waiting for the portal to change back to the hallway with the door. When it did, he walked through languidly. This wasn't so hard, he decided. He could do this—whatever, really, "this" was.

Only one thing really mattered to him, anyway. "Hey, I get out of here soon, right?"

He walked through the Emancipation Grille and into the elevator, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet as he did so. There wasn't a response—not that he really thought there would be. So far in their relationship, there had been a lot of unanswered questions, and Edward had a feeling that wasn't going to change any time soon although he wished it would.

When the elevator doors closed in front of him, he was surprised to actually hear Her speak again.

"Please stand by as the chloroform gas is dispensed into the elevator."

"W-wait, what?"

He didn't have time to react. There was a soft hissing—something blew right in his face—and then the next thing Edward knew, the world was tilting, spinning, darkening and oh, oh crap, what was going on, did he do something wrong? And where, after all this, was Alphonse? Was he okay? Was—

The last thing he remembered was the sharp pain of the floor meeting his side.

Then, blackness.

* * *

There was a knock at the door—loud and persistent—almost annoying—until it was finally answered.

"Miss Winry Rockbell?"

A reluctant, surprised nod. These strangers in the white coats didn't look familiar...

"Hello, we are from Aperture Laboratories—we have a few questions regarding some automail you made approximately two years ago…"

* * *

**Test Subject: **Edward Elric  
**Day: **1  
**Time: **10:01 a.m.  
**Location: **Elevator 01  
**Testing Progress: **Approved for Aperture Science Handheld Portal Device  
_ -Aperture Laboratories_

* * *

**Crystal's Notes: **I must admit, I'm so glad I have this started. This idea has been brewing and brewing and holy crap, I had to get it out.

I really hope you enjoyed this as much as I had fun writing it. And if you did—please let me know. Unfortunately, lack of reviews often means lack of updates, because then I get the message no one is reading, and then I may very well shut a story down (as I am considering doing for _Carpe Lumen_).

As it is, thank you very much for reading—and if this goes over well, I do believe chapter 2 will be coming up shortly.

ALSO—for those who might be curious—Edward is 13 in this fic, Alphonse 12. So that means this takes place _before _the events of the series. Just so…people are aware, because I doubt I'll ever get around to mentioning that within the story.

ALSO ALSO-I realize the "long-fall boots" really only appear in Portal 2, but I have my reasons for giving Edward a prototype pair right now, so do bear with me. (heart heart)

So again. Enjoy, tell me if you did. And have a blessed, blessed day.


	2. Chapter 2

**Test Subject: **Edward Elric  
**Day: **2  
**Time: **11:59 a.m.  
**Location: **Surgery Room  
**Testing Progress: **Undergoing Application of the Aperture Science Handheld Portal Device  
_ -Aperture Laboratories_

* * *

When Granny Pinako called later the previous evening, demanding to know where her granddaughter was, Mustang knew something was up. Part of him wondered, primarily, how the heck the woman had even gotten a hold of his number, but then he quickly dismissed that.

There were more important matters, after all.

"So, Alphonse. You still haven't seen your brother?"

"I…" The armored boy sounded so scared. "…n-no…"

Mustang's eyes remained focused on the desert horizon that he could see through his window. No longer brightened by the lack of cares yesterday, his eyes were heavy and brooding, lips pulled into a thin, uncertain line as he took stock of the situation. He sighed, breath fogging the lower end of the receiver. "I was hoping you wouldn't say that…"

"Why? What's going on?"

Wondering how much he should tell the boy, Mustang brought a hand up to idly rub his brow. But then, he quickly decided—well, to heck with it. Maybe the kid would have an idea. "As of last night, it appears Winry is missing, too."

"_W-Winry_?! Lieutenant—"

"—I know, Alphonse. Something's up. We're already trying to figure it out." Turning away from the window, Mustang walked back to his desk and sat down.

"But—but that's so weird—why would someone kidnap both Winry _and _Brother…?"

Another sigh. "That's what we've been asking. Obviously, it's someone you know—or someone who is trying to get back at you guys in particular. It's too big of a coincidence for Miss Rockbell and Fullmetal to be victims of random kidnapping at the same time, especially on different sides of the country like that." He once again took to rubbing his forehead as he tried to puzzle this out. "Can you think of anyone that you've made particular enemies with lately?"

Alphonse whined quietly. "I…no. None that aren't in jail, now, at least. And none that would somehow know about Winry."

Mustang nodded even though the kid couldn't see it. He leaned back in his chair. "I was afraid of that. Well, all right then. I guess that leaves us back at square one. We're going to examine this as thoroughly as possible to find them as quickly as we can, all right, Alphonse?"

"Okay. But—I want to help, too—"

"—I understand that," and honestly, the Lieutenant Colonel did. "But you forget that _you_ might be their next target, Alphonse. You can't go gallivanting about trying to find them when someone could be waiting to swipe you next."

"—But—"

"—no 'buts.'" Mustang pressed his lips together in a thin line decidedly before continuing. "I've sent Second Lieutenants Breda and Havoc to keep an eye on you—not so that you don't run off, but so that our unknown kidnapper can't get you, so don't go anywhere without them, understand, Alphonse?" _Your brother would have my head if I let anything happen to you._

"But _Lieutenant Colonel, _that's my _brother_ someone has. I can't just _sit by _while someone's doing _who knows what _to him!"

"You _have to, _Alphonse. What use are you going to be to Ed if you get captured too, huh?"

"But—"

"—_you have received your orders, _Alphonse." A short—almost startled—pause, before the Lieutenant Colonel continued. "You may not be military, but I would still advise you to listen and carefully obey. Right now, that's the best help that you can be for your brother. All right?"

Alphonse gave a long, reluctant sigh. "…I…I guess…"

Mustang nodded, softening. "…that's all we ask. If we have your cooperation, we'll have your brother and Winry back in no time. Understood?"

"U-understood."

* * *

_Pain._

Oh, gosh, horrible, sharp, acute _pain._

There was so much of it; too much; heavy, thick globs coursing through his system—past his trembling shoulders, his bucking chest—_why oh why _has the darkness not returned to take it _away_? He screamed—cried out—begged—_please please stop it whatever it is you're doing stop touching me stop—_

But the hands and the prods and those _awful daggers of sharp, excruciating pain_ remained.

Persisting.

Picking.

_Zap._

Another ragged cry tore from his throat, load, overbearing, as the jolt was felt throughout his entire system. Hands were on his shoulders, rough, large—_go away go away_—pushing him back down on the table from which he had leapt. But no—_no_—he didn't just want to lay back! He wanted to run—get out of here—get away from this pain! Anything to make it stop—make it end—_this wasn't supposed to be happening._

And in the midst of the voices, the hands, the pain—one voice, fraught with worry and tight with her own hurt—murmured into his ear quietly, mournfully. Soft lips against shaking, red cartilage sore from his own loud screaming.

And he could hear her clearly.

"…I'm so sorry, Edward…"

For the first time since the operation started, the golden-haired boy's eyes opened just a crack. Light, harsh and antiseptic glared down on him, but he turned away from it, eyes searching to catch a glimpse of those sunshine-yellow locks he had known since childhood, hoping, and yet devastated that she—somehow—was here, too.

Her name gasped past his lips. "…Winry…?"

But the pain drowned out the rest of his attention, making him scream once more.

* * *

**Test Subject: **Edward Elric  
**Day: **2  
**Time: **7:50 p.m.  
**Location: **Elevator 01  
**Testing Progress: **Approaching Test Chamber 02  
_ -Aperture Laboratories_

* * *

It wasn't the most comfortable position to wake up in—lying on his back. Edward was sure he had a crink in his neck by the time he finally came to, groaning and disoriented.

Oh, and his shoulder port hurt like heck, too.

"Ugh…what happened…?" he murmured dazedly, reaching with his automail and flesh hands to push himself up—or at least, he _would _have used both instead of just resorting to just his human limb—if only…if only…

Panic seized the boy, as soon as he was sitting upright and grasped at the now-empty automail port.

_It—it's gone?!_

His first thought was: _Oh crap, Winry's gonna kill me. _His second: _Where's my jacket? _ Because, at that moment, all he had on was a white t-shirt (ripped and sleeveless for his right shoulder-port) and those strange orange pants. But then, the third—and most important question—finally occurred to him.

_What did they _do _to me?_

And then the memories came back, all at once—a sharp flood of devastating phantom pains that made him nearly scream again until he remembered—oh. Right. That had been…some time ago. By now, his shoulder—from where all the pain was throbbing, emanating from—was merely a dull, persistent ache. He was…he was okay, now. Better.

_But I could have sworn I heard Winry's voice, too…did I imagine that?_

…or was she really here?

And if she was here—why? Why the _heck _would whoever's behind this want _Winry_?

Edward grit his teeth, pushing himself awkwardly to his feet—using the bar ringing around the sides of the elevator to help him up. A sense of light-headedness was quick to assault him, but leaning against the side of the elevator, he let the sensation pass. _Stupid drugs. _Because he wasn't idiot enough to have assumed they didn't knock him out with any. Sweat beaded at the line of his forehead and hair, and, panting, once he was ready, Edward shoved away from the wall of the elevator and toward the open doors.

He would find out. Find out if she really was here—and then get them both out and far, far away. This place was _crazy._

…and he'd get his automail back, too.

_And_ make sure that Alphonse was okay.

_Oh, please let them _both _not be here, _was Edward's only thought as he stumbled down the hallway, passing another sign that lit up as he passed—"02." A particularly painful throb pulsed through his chest at the thought of his brother. _Let Alphonse, especially, be okay…_

He swallowed, coming to a stop as he noticed the glass wall on one side of the hallway. And through that glass was another two-story room—but on the bottom—

At first, Edward thought it was his automail. His heart speed up with overwhelming excitement for a moment, until he realized that it—wait—didn't exactly _look_ like his automail. It was white, almost lumpy, and was turning at intervals, firing those blue and orange portals that he had seen and walked through earlier on each of the four walls, one at a time.

"You're doing very well. Please be advised that a noticeable taste of blood is not part of any test protocol, but is an unintended side effect of the Aperture Science Material Emancipation Grille, which may, in semi-rare cases, emancipate dental fillings, crowns, tooth enamel, and teeth."

Instinctively, Edward ran his tongue along the inside of his mouth, searching every ridge—but hey, all incisors still there. That was good, he supposed. At least he still had _them. _

Tilting his head up to the ceiling, he yelled out, "Hey! What'd you do with my automail arm? I kind of _need _that, you know!"

This time, She was quick to respond.

"A replacement arm has been placed in the center of the arrows on the floor for your benefit. Please attach it so that the testing may continue."

Testing. Stupid _testing. _

Edward looked at the white thing still firing portals. Was that really what they wanted him to use? It hardly looked like it had a hand…

"Please attach the device so that the testing may continue."

He sighed. Okay. Fine. _Whatever. _The quicker he could get this testing done, then the quicker he could leave, he supposed. No—_knew. _As soon as this was done, he was out of here—no "if's", "and's", or "but's." There was nothing they could do to make him stay; he would make sure of that.

Determined, Edward turned and walked through the open circle-door and down the stairs, mouth set in a grim line. He hardly noticed where he was walking, until—

_Zwoop. _

In that split-second, a flash of blue buzzed by his eyes, so close, he could feel the incredible heat of the thing, making him stumble backward in surprise, calling out—but then, he froze upon seeing that the light had formed a portal in the wall to his right.

Oh.

Well.

Creeping forward and looking left to see where it had come from, he saw there was a small hole on the wall on the other side of the hallway, too—almost like a window. Which…didn't make too much sense until he realized that hey—the "arm" they wanted him to use was probably on the other side, firing through it to form a portal. And in order to get there, he'd most likely have to walk through_ this_ portal, wherever it lead—and quick, too.

Which is just what he did.

_I'm catching on rather quick, if I may say so myself._

By this time, there was almost no nausea involved in the portal-walking. Almost grinning because, hey, that was _still _pretty cool, Edward gazed at his new surroundings. He was in an elevated room, open to the large, two-story one that still housed his new "arm" on the bottom.

He still felt a bit hesitant about it.

Glancing to his right, he saw another closed circle-door right beside him. He supposed he would have to figure out how to open that—but later.

"Please attach the devise quickly so that the testing may continue."

"Yeah, yeah, I got it, I got it," Edward mumbled, creeping forward to the edge. Looking down, he realized it was slightly longer of a drop than the one he had to make earlier. _Yesterday? Today? _Who knew how much time had passed by since then—it was hard to tell in here.

But setting his mouth once more into a grim line, Edward backed up a little, before taking a running start and jumping off the edge—before he could, of course, second-guess himself.

Yet still, much to his joy, the landing was flawless, and Edward still hardly felt any jolt through his legs.

_Sweet. I'll have to tell Mustang—these things should be military-issued, _he thought, kicking his legs out and jiggling the braces with excitement.

But first—yes. New "arm."

Walking forward, Edward watched the thing as it turned again and fired at the wall opposite him. Sure enough—now that he was facing the rear of it—there was _definitely _an automail-port on the end of the gun, too, meant to be connected to his own shoulder. Yet it unnerved him. Because—

—_That looks like Winry's work._

He swallowed, not understanding. Was she part of this? Was this _her _prank? Or had she been forced to make this? Was she, too, a victim, somewhere in this strange place?

Edward sighed, raking his flesh hand through his bangs quickly. None of this made any sense. There were too many variables—too many unknowns. And yet, the most annoying thing was, he wasn't in control of the situation. At _all. _There was this Voice, everywhere, talking to him—cameras, too, everywhere—and no way to explain where he was, or where everyone else who he cared about was.

It scared him more than he'd care to admit.

"Please attach the devise quickly so that the testing may continue."

…_well, here goes nothing, I suppose._

Pressing his lips together, Edward reached out and grabbed the gun, which stopped firing as soon as he lifted it from its stand. With careful guidance, he lined it up with his automail port. He bit his lip, bracing himself for the jolt—

—until he reminded himself he better do this sitting down.

Letting out the breath he had been holding, Edward plopped down in the middle of the testing chamber, and once more prepared himself for attaching his own limb.

To his credit, he only grunted as soon as the nerves were re-connected—although the tell-tale beads of sweat crawling down his forehead betrayed his mask of strength. He gasped a little, waiting as the weird sensation rocked him before he tried to move his new arm.

It operated slightly differently—didn't bend in places it usually was supposed to—and puzzled, trying to figure out _how, _exactly,to maneuver it, Edward brought it up to his face.

"Very good," She praised. "You are now in possession of the Aperture Science Handheld Portal Device."

Huh. So that's what it was.

"With it, you can create your own portals. These inter-dimensional gates have proven to be completely safe."

_Oh, that's good, _Edward sighed, pushing himself to his feet. The "device" felt heavy—yet lighter than normal automail. He couldn't get over how strange it was to have a _gun _for an arm. It was completely different from automail; thinking about moving his fingers did nothing.

It was like being re-amputated, and then promptly given a stick instead of a new hand and told it was a sword.

"The device, however, has not."

…wait, so it's _not _safe?

Edward glanced at the ceiling, anger tickling his cheeks. "Hey—"

"Do not touch the operational end of the device. Do not look directly at the operational end of the device. Do not submerge the device in liquid, even partially."

Oh. Okay. So rules like that made sense. Maybe _that's _what She meant about it "not being safe."

"Most importantly, under no circumstances should you—"

And there came the weird, garbled noise again, completely distorting whatever it was She might have been trying to say. It ended quicker than the last one, cutting off abruptly and leaving only silence in its wake instead of more comforting instructions.

Edward frowned.

_Friendly, aren't we?_

Turning, and almost entirely without thinking, (just to test it out, part of his subconscious said) Edward lifted the portal device and fired at the camera in the corner of the room. He wasn't sure how he did it—just knew that it was, quite honestly, similar to moving fingers except the concept was "trigger-pulling." All the same, he had to admit: it was an eerie satisfaction to watch that surveillance camera separate from the wall because of the portal he had fired and fall, crumpling and dismantled to the ground.

But She was quick to reprimand.

"To ensure the safe performance of all authorized activities, do not destroy Vital Testing Apparatus."

"Aw, shut up," Edward retorted, lowering the gun. He kicked the now-broken surveillance camera for good measure. "I'll destroy whatever the heck I want to."

He then dispatched the other camera in the room, too. Much to Her displeasure.

But he found he sincerely enjoyed it. _Take that, Aperture Freaks._

* * *

Winry Rockbell had been crying, left alone in the temporary room the Aperture Scientists had given to her while she stayed there. For how long it would be, she didn't know; all she knew was that somehow, Ed was at the center of this—somehow, he was in repeating life-threatening situations, studied as to how he got through them—and somehow, she had gotten roped into this mess, too.

She had _hurt _him.

But was it better than the alternative—better than his death at their hands, which they had threatened? Yes. Oh, yes—she would hear his screams any day if only that meant he were _alive._

But she wasn't quite sure the pain he had been made to go through in order to attach his nerves to new types of wires—wires that would take different brain signals and pull triggers with them instead of flexing fingers. It had been horrible, the entire surgery—the entire process. And all for what?

_For some lousy 'experiments?'_

Winry sniffed, wiping her face clean, anger lining her features. She would show those scientists—she would hit them over the head with her wrench if they let her keep it. She would give them a piece of her mind; they had no right to do this! These…these human experiments! No right at all—over anybody!

And boiling over these thoughts, by the time the door opened, Winry jumped to her feet, ready to explode and shout and argue and _Oh, someone give me a head to pummel and I will with my own fists—_

But the man that then entered had so much hair on his face that Winry found herself flabbergasted and speechless for just a moment, completely forgetting everything she had been so eager and ready to burst a pipe over in the first place. She merely stared at him in shock.

Her reaction to his head of black hair, beard and mustache must have been something he'd seen a lot, for when her watery-blue eyes widened, he smiled and laughed.

"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance as well, Miss Winry Rockbell. My name is Doug Rattman. If you would—please, have a seat."

Numb, she nodded, falling back onto her bed. It wasn't until he sat across from her on a soft, spinning desk chair that she found her voice back. "…Rattman…that's not, like, a nick-name, is it? That's…legitimately your last name?"

"Yes," Rattman laughed. "That is, legitimately, my name."

Winry flushed, fisting her hands in her black skirt. "I—sorry, that probably was rude—"

"—not at all. I get it a lot; I'm used to it." And the way the man smiled then, so gentle, so warm, blue eyes bright and hospitable—Winry completely forgot all her anger against these scientists that she had so toiled over earlier.

Instead, a completely knew thought overcame her, because she knew someone who very rarely—but could, and when he did, and then the sun hit his face just right _Oh, is that beautiful—_smiled the same way. Her hands fisted even tighter in the dark cloth in her lap. She swallowed. "…Ed. Is he…? Is he all right?"

Rattman nodded, looking at his chart. "So far, yes. He's got the device, now. He's on his way to test chamber three already—quite incredible, considering he's already mastering use of the portal system."

A fond smile tugged at the corner of Winry's mouth. "Oh, I wouldn't be too surprised, if I were you. He's a genius, Ed is. It always used to make me so mad…" Her laugh was only half as strong as it should have been.

"You two…are very close?"

Winry smiled, closing her eyes briefly before returning her gaze to her lap. "Yes. I guess you could say so—not as close as he and his brother are—but close. Then again, no one could be as close as those two boys." Affection warmed her face beautifully—attractively. "They're so…_a part _of one another. It's amazing." Another weak laugh. "Sometimes, it makes me jealous."

Rattman nodded, still puzzled. "I am…not sure I follow. But all right."

The blonde girl gazed at him, blue eyes searching his face as she pondered something very deep. "…well, do you know two people who—say—would give an arm and a leg—perhaps their entire everything, their being—leaving behind only their soul—for the other?"

Of a sudden, something close to recognition passed through Rattman's eyes. "…yes," he said very carefully. "I suppose I do…"

Winry, feeling a story behind that statement, tilted her head curiously, leaning forward and perching her chin on her propped-up palm. "Okay, then. Tell me about them."

It began with a hesitant sigh. "My old boss," Rattman said thoughtfully, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. "He died a year or two back—his name was Cave Johnson. Used to be the CEO of Aperture Science Industries. He had this assistant, named Caroline. The woman was a beauty—almost every other scientist in Aperture tried to ask her out. But…she, of course, only had eyes for one man."

Winry couldn't help but smile. "A certain Mr. Johnson, I presume."

"You guess correctly," Rattman smiled back. "We're not sure if they ever did have an affair together—the two were so inseparably close—in his will, Johnson had…" There, his voice unexpectedly gave way to something and quickly clearing it, Rattman continued. "…well, among other things, detailed that Caroline be made CEO of Aperture Science. We didn't hold any objections, really. She had been his right-hand gal. No one knew the company better than she did."

"But you speak of her in past tense."

Rattman looked at the girl, impressed. "If you call your friend a genius—he must truly be incredible. You, yourself, are very astute as well."

Winry flushed from the praise. "Why…thank you."

Smiling, Rattman reluctantly nodded. "…yes. I do speak of Caroline in past tense, even though it's not as if she's truly…left us yet." Something strange flittered through his face at that—and Winry couldn't help but latch on to it with curiosity.

"…so then, what happened to her?"

Rattman shrugged, abruptly standing up. "That's a story for another time." He turned away, flipping through some notes on his clipboard once, before muttering quietly, "…I do wonder about GLaDOS sometimes, though…she's behaving rather strangely, lately…"

Winry blinked. "…what? Who's GLaDOS?"

But that was all Rattman would say. With a smile, kind farewell, the man left quickly, shutting the door behind him with finality on the conversation.

Frowning, Winry flopped back on her bed, questions flittering through her mind—questions that demanded answers. Not all was as it seemed here at Aperture Laboratories; something strange was no doubt going on, added on to the human testing that was already so awful. And there was more to that story than Rattman was telling her—and more going on about Ed, too, than any scientist wanted to say. Why where they all doing this? What had Cave Johnson been thinking as CEO? Did any of them have a clear conscious using innocent people as test subjects?

She rubbed her head tiredly, unable to think anything else other than: _Well…if I can convince someone like Mr. Rattman to keep an eye out for Ed, then maybe he really will get through this. Or maybe—even better—get us _out _of this._

* * *

**Test Subject: **Edward Elric  
**Day: **2  
**Time: **8:08 p.m.  
**Location: **Elevator 02  
**Testing Progress: **Test Chamber 02 Complete. En Route to Test Chamber 03.  
_ -Aperture Laboratories_

* * *

**Crystal's Notes: **…I hope people enjoy this. D: I really do. Because I'm having such a _blast _writing this, and it'd be a shame if no one were able to join the party with me. I mean—the cake's really not a lie this time, people.

(It will be for Ed, though—sad, sad.)

I'm working hard to integrate the two universes—Portal and FMA—seamlessly. I know that at the time Portal 1 starts, all the other scientists are already dead—but here, they are alive—just bear with me. Creative juices are flowing at an incredible rate for this story; more than they have for a long time. So there's a reason they're still alive—and why they will later, eventually, be killed.

(Not to, y'know, give spoilers to those who somehow don't know about Portal.)

Also—I'm not going to be going step-by-step through each testing chamber. That would just get boring. So like I did here for Test Chamber 02, where I skipped the exit of that room—I'll probably be doing that frequently. Most likely, you guys know the drill if you're reading this story. I'm just going to catch the major bits and pieces of GLaDOS' dialogue that demands to be included—along with Edward's ever-timely responses.

I think that's all the notes for now. Please, please review if you enjoy this story—else, I'll think I'm bombing it and may lose hope. (Even though I'm having fun with it and having a hard time imagining that I'm just going to up and drop this.)

So yes. Review, if you're kind. But I'll still love you for reading. (heart heart)


	3. Chapter 3

**Test Subject: **Edward Elric  
**Day: **3  
**Time: **10:12 a.m.  
**Location: **Elevator 04  
**Testing Progress: **Rested. Will Continue Testing in 3, 2…  
_ -Aperture Laboratories_

* * *

Rock-hard ground definitely wasn't a convenient sleeping arrangement, Edward admitted. However, on the other hand, being stuck inside a rat lab left him no other choice. And, quite frankly, after completing Tests 03 and 04 (both of which were incredibly easy once he got the hang of firing his blue-portal), he had been exhausted.

So, he'd thought he'd sleep. Turns out, unfortunately, the "padding" on the walls of the elevator was only screens with an image on them of upholstery, so they only _looked_ comfortable, and therefore, couldn't be somehow torn off and used as bedding.

Plus, the portals didn't work inside the elevator.

Edward was beginning to take note that the portals, in fact, only worked on certain surfaces. He hadn't figured out all of the surfaces on which they worked yet—but he _was _extremely happy to learn that none of the cameras he had dismantled (which, really, had been every single one he'd come across so far) were immune to it.

She didn't like it. He didn't care.

But at the moment, waking up with a severely sore back and neck, Edward wondered if Karma had taken Her side in this situation.

_Jerk._

Ah well. Edward pushed himself as best he could to his feet. He was still getting used to _feeling _like he had two arms, but really only having one. Having a portal gun for the other was a serious detriment in doing usual day-to-day activities, such as getting up in the morning.

_Morning? Is it really morning? Maybe it's night. Maybe I'm losing it. I can't count on my internal clock to tell what time it is when I can't even look outside._

…outside.

Ugh.

He was already missing it. Missing…missing everyone. _I miss Alphonse. I miss Winry…I miss…_

Edward coughed, immediately straightening himself. Okay. Right. Mustang wasn't about to be added to that list—nope. Not at all. Besides, such an addition wouldn't be appropriate. He didn't deserve to be there; he was just Edward's superior officer. He wasn't missed. No…not yet, anyway…

"Once again, excellent work. As part of a required test protocol, we will not monitor the next test chamber. You will be entirely on your own. Good luck."

The doors slid open, revealing a dimly-lit hallway. Edward walked forward, not even flinching this time as the giant "05" sign lit up on his left. He had finally noticed the little stick-figure warning icons at the bottom of the light structure back in the fourth test chamber—and they had amused him greatly. This time, however, he passed right on by them, not even pausing in this hallway—except for, of course, firing a blue portal behind the surveillance camera up on the wall above the doorway to the room—as he walked through.

He grinned as he heard the camera crash to the ground behind him. Her voice was quick to follow.

"For your own safety, do not destroy Vital Testing Apparatus."

_And I thought you weren't watching me._

Snickering, Edward took in the test chamber room in a quick, scanning glance. Two giant red buttons lay before him in the middle of the floor. On the left and right sides of the room stood two platforms raised high above his head—one of them, he could see, had one of those "weighted storage cubes" that Aperture Laboratories seemed to have so many of. The other platform was empty, but had the orange portal on the wall above it. The closed circle door with the dull blue lights was to his left, at the end of the room. On the other end, it almost appeared there wasn't a floor—until Edward neared in and looked down to see it was just like the previous chamber with a lowered, checkered floor with another one of those boxes on it.

_Easy, _Edward grinned. Raising the gun, he fired a portal beneath the box, letting it fall through the orange portal that was above the platform to his left and onto its raised piece of floor. Glancing up to make sure it made it safely—perhaps just a precaution more than anything else, so he was aware of where he was going—Edward then took another running-start jump, hopping through the blue-rimmed portal and out through the orange one.

He waited until the stubborn vertigo passed (it was always strongest when he was entering from a different angle than the one he was supposed to be coming out at), before realizing he had conveniently hopped out onto his weighted storage cube.

_I'm so awesome. _Sliding off, Edward hefted up the box as best he could—it still was difficult with just one flesh arm—before deciding to heck with it, he would just roll it over the side of the platform and over to the button.

Once that hefty work was done, Edward quickly dispatched the other camera in the room—earning him that same message she liked to so sweetly say.

"For your own safety, do not destroy Vital Testing Apparatus."

"Yeah, yeah," he mumbled, turning around and firing a blue portal on the wall for him to walk through and get past the orange portal and onto the raised platform. Once that was done, he fired towards the wall opposite him, to get behind the box on the other standing floor, pick it up, then decide that, _Yeah, rolling it is much easier, _and henceforth do that instead to then open the circle-door.

Just as he expected, She once again had something to say regarding his success as he exited the chamber.

"As part of a required test protocol, our previous statement suggesting that we would not monitor this chamber was an outright fabrication. Good job. As part of a required test protocol, we will stop enhancing the truth in three, two, o—"

Her voice cut off, but Edward shrugged as he looked around the new room he had entered into. It was all closed off except for the glass ceiling above him, which showed the orange portal high on the ceiling on the other side of the glass. Thinking quickly, he fired a blue portal at one of the side walls, walking through, bracing himself for the vertigo, and landing as best as he could on his feet on the glass that now acted as a "floor" for him instead of a "ceiling." Really, those boots were awesome—they made the entire process of landing from tall heights such a cinch that all Edward had to worry about, actually, was keeping his stomach in check.

After all, it's not like She had said anything he hadn't known. He _knew _they had still been watching him.

_Well, at least now I know She'll tell me the truth from here on out, _he thought as he strode forward (dispatching the nearby surveillance camera) and into the next awaiting eleveator.

…at least, he hoped She would.

* * *

"General Grumman, sir, it has come to my attention that the Fullmetal Alchemist is missing."

General Grumman nodded, sighing. His fingers were steepled together in front of his face as he sat at his desk, hovering over the reports and mission-dispatch request that Mustang had sent to him first thing that morning. It had all been terribly thorough.

"Yes," he finally answered after a long pause. "So I read."

Lieutenant Colonel Mustang didn't need to say anything else, but relaxed his stance just the slightest—enough to not be so overbearing in posture and stiffness, but to still be giving the elder man in front of him the respect he deserved. "Permission to speak freely, then, sir?"

Grumman, surprised, finally glanced up at him for the first time since the Lieutenant Colonel had entered. "Yes—er—most certainly. And do sit down while you're at it."

Mustang nodded, following his suggestion. "Thank you, sir." There was only a minimal amount of hesitation before the ebony-haired officer began, "If I may, it has also come to my attention that a certain friend of the Fullmetal Alchemist's is missing, as well. I have no reason to believe that the two incidences aren't connected, based on what information has been gathered so far."

General Grumman's eyes flashed. Now _this_ was a detail left out of Mustang's report—and for good reason, too, the elder man realized. After all, a missing civilian case was handled differently than a missing officer one; if they separated the two, Fullmetal's might be handled first and his friend's left to gather dust under other, higher prioritized cases while they searched for him. But if Mustang thought that the two were connected somehow…

"All right, then. Humor me. What is it, exactly you would like to do, Mustang?"

The Lieutenant Colonel nodded gravely, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in gratefulness. "I would like to examine the last spot his friend had been seen for any clues her kidnapper may have left behind. I hear from my two subordinates that they were incredibly thorough in taking Fullmetal; not a trace was left behind at that scene."

"So you're hoping that with this second abduction, they were sloppy."

"Yes, sir."

General Grumman nodded, bringing his fingers to his lips as he thought. It didn't take long, really, to make a decision—but he had to at least _look _like he was giving it more careful thought than he was. "All right, then. I see no reason to detain you." He straightened the slightest, pulling his shoulders back as he slipped familiarly into that role of superior officer. "Your new assignment is to find these two, Colonel. You may use whatever means you see fit to use in order to do so."

He gathered up the files in a quick flourish, before handing them back over with raised and expectant eyebrows.

The Colonel merely grinned and accepted the papers back. "Thank you, sir."

Grumman smiled back, as best he could with this pressing news on him. "You owe me once you return, I hope you know."

"Oh, don't worry," Mustang called over his shoulder as he spun on his heel and headed for the door to Grumman's office. He gave a half-wave over his shoulder that he didn't turn around to see. "I'm aware, by now, of how our relationship works, General. We'll indeed play another round once I return. You have my word."

"Good!" Grumman smiled, watching as the door shut behind that pair of remarkable, strong shoulders. Absently, his eyes drifted to the chess set on the corner of his desk. "Good. Because this thing's been gathering dust for a while, now, and quite frankly, I miss it…"

* * *

Alphonse _really _wanted to find his brother. It wasn't just an aching, sour feeling—it was this pressing, thrumming _need._

Because if Edward wasn't safe, neither was Alphonse's world.

He knew Edward was capable—really, he was. If anyone was able to rescue themselves, Edward could. He was just that strong, and Alphonse didn't doubt his brother's abilities. Oh no—far from that. He believed in what Edward could do full-heartedly—had to, in a way, since his brother had promised him to get his body back.

It was just that…it had been two days. And the longer time ticked on, the more Alphonse worried, because Edward _still _wasn't back.

Second Lieutenants Breda and Havoc were nice company—and a constant positive force. Continually, they would take turns searching for clues, including asking around town if they had seen anything or sometimes re-examining the room. Although they typically found nothing, it was their never-ending optimism and patience that encouraged Alphonse and kept his spirits up when he began to worry most about his dearest other. (And in truth, he appreciated that more than words could say.)

Today, it was Havoc's turn, leaving Alphonse and Breda to play cards (or, more specifically, "go fish") back in the hotel room.

Somehow, it always got rather intense.

"YOU'RE LYING! I SWEAR YOU HAVE A TWO! GIMME!"

Alphonse laughed, pulling his cards away from the squabbling, reaching Breda. Honestly, the man was so lazy—it was hilarious to see him so energetic and fierce, vigorous and excited about _something_, even if it _was_ just a child's game.

"No, no," the armored boy retorted, still pulling away from the grasping hands. "I'm telling you the truth! I don't have any!"

"LIES!"

The two were almost so engrossed in their comical half-argument, they almost didn't notice the door to the room open slowly and then achingly shut with the same caution. But the sound still caught their attention—and what held it was Havoc's mystified, calculating expression as he entered and then leaned back against the wooden frame.

Alphonse immediately stood up, knocking over their playing table and spilling their cards to the floor as his heart-that-wasn't-really-there-but-sometimes-he-still-thought-it-was soared with hope. "Did you find something?"

_Oh please oh please oh please say yes—_

"_Something," _Havoc stressed, but there was a proud smile glittering in his blue eyes through the trail of smoke from the cigarette between his teeth. "That may not even help us, but I thought it was interesting. Enough, at least, to tell you guys about it."

Breda raised an eyebrow from where he still sat at his chair, turned, though, so to see his comrade. Their game lay completely forgotten on the floor. "Well? What is it?"

"Apparently, Ed's not the only one missing." Now, Havoc's grin spread. He straightened slightly, crossing his arms over his chest as he spoke. "There also seems to be a report of a large amount of missing homeless people. Also, some unemployed folks whose family members are beginning to get worried."

"Homeless people?" Breda asked, baffled. "Not to be slammin' 'em, but…who'd want to kidnap _homeless people_?"

"I don't know," Havoc answered, shrugging. His eyes carried from his partner to Alphonse, staring into those soul-red eyes with purpose as he added, "But I think it'd be in our best interest to find out. We've been asking normal town citizens of the upper-middle and middle class these past two days and haven't gotten anywhere. This time, let's try the other end of the spectrum. Who knows? Maybe the two incidents are connected. We may find something."

Alphonse nodded hurriedly—determinedly. Even though it didn't make sense to him, after all—_Why would someone who's taking defenseless, un-wealthy people want my _Brother, _the _Fullmetal Alchemist?_—_he wouldn't miss out on this opportunity to find Ed.

Especially not if it did indeed, eventually, lead to him.

* * *

Edward stepped off of the elevator and into blackness.

At least, it looked that way at first.

_Dang it, _he thought upon examining the pitch-black paneled walls up closer. _This is one of those surfaces that doesn't work with the portals, isn't it?_

Just as he reached out to touch it experimentally with his human hand, She began to speak once again.

"While safety is one of many Enrichment Center goals, the Aperture Science High-Energy Pellets seen to the left of the chamber can, and have caused, permanent disabilities, such as vaporization. Please be careful."

Edward blinked, looking down the short hallway and into the real test chamber before him. Immediately, he spotted what She was talking about—this glowing, bouncing ball that buzzed with electricity as it slowly floated towards the ground (where the closed orange portal lay), rebounded (_Because_, Edward realized,_ I haven't fired a blue portal yet for it to go through_), and then flew back towards the odd, round contraption on the ceiling that looked as if, when its triangular petals opened, it would have originally fired the ball.

Which, as he crept forward and took another glance at the ceiling of the room, he noticed it was the only side that _wasn't _covered in the weird, black, rubber-like walls. It was the standard grey panels.

Edward grinned. _Okay. So I fire a portal up there. But to place the 'pellet-ball' where…?_

His golden eyes quickly darted to the small, circular contraption to the right of the orange portal that reminded Edward, somehow, of a gaping mouth.

_Okay. Easy. _

Firing his blue portal above the mouth-thing, Edward watched as the ball then successfully glided through the new transport and then down towards the awaiting jaws of the device. Surely enough, as soon as the ball arrived, the contraption clicked, humming as the raised platform on the other side of the room (that Edward just now noticed) finally lowered itself.

"Unbelievable! You, (SUBJECT NAME HERE), must be the pride of (SUBJECT HOMETOWN HERE)."

The statement made Edward freeze, blink, and gaze at the ceiling. He opened his mouth to say something—something similar to "Um, that'd be _Edward Elric _of _Rezembool_, thank you"—but the sheer, utter _oddness _(_coldness_?) of what She said left his mouth vacant instead.

Something about it, as strange as Her statement was—as strangely _easy _as this test was—left his gut churning. He sagged against the wall of the elevator as the doors closed in front of him, flesh hand subconsciously drifting towards the portal-gun device that replaced his trusty automail, and fingers drifting across its white surface, tracing the words imprinted on them in clear, bold black.

'_Aperture Laboratories.'_

The same logo that resided above the doors on the elevator, Edward knew as his golden gaze rose to meet the dimly-lit blue sign.

He rested his head against the cool metal behind him as the lift began to stutteringly rise.

…_it's almost like…I'm not _me _anymore…_

He swallowed.

…_as if I've been erased. Like my identity has been replaced by 'test subject' and 'Aperture Science Lab Rat.' I mean, is that—is that really what it's come to? And if that's the case—if—if I really don't exist—_

…was anybody even looking for him?

_No_. Edward gritted his teeth as he shoved himself upright and through the now-open elevator doors and into Test Chamber 07. He didn't even listen to Her as she spoke—something about alarms and "flashing hazard lights" and about "turning them off for his own safety," however the crap that worked logically—firing the blue portal on the wall to let another electric-pellet slide through and into another mouth-machine, which clicked upon being satisfied.

_It's too soon to start doubting them. I can't—_won't—_lose my confidence in them just yet. After all, Alphonse wouldn't forget about me. Never. He couldn't—he wouldn't not remember our promise. _

He fired another blue portal above the waiting, hovering translucent platform and hoped through the nearby orange-rimmed circle to get through it and onto his transport. Once again, he ignored Her words, too engrossed in his thoughts to take in what she was saying about "unstationary scaffolds" as it began to move towards the opening that led him to the elevator room.

_I'll get out of here, _he thought with determination, flesh hand tightening into a fist as if to strengthen his words._ And when I do, they'll be waiting for me. Because they'll still know me. Because I'll still…_be.

* * *

**Test Subject: **Edward Elric  
**Day: **3  
**Time: **11:20 a.m.  
**Location: **Elevator 07  
**Testing Progress: **Test Chamber 07 Complete (Note: In Record Time). En Route to Test Chamber 08.  
_-Aperture Laboratories_

* * *

**Crystal's Notes: **So this one's a page or two shorter than the others—but hopefully nobody will be too upset. I included all that needs to be included—so on to the next chapter then, right?

THANK YOU TO ALL WHO HAVE REVIEWED. HONESTLY. YOU'RE MY SHINING STARS AND YOU MEAN MORE THAN YOU'LL EVER KNOW. IF THERE WAS A WAY TO REPAY YOU, I'D DO SO IN A HEARTBEAT, BUT AS IT IS, I CAN ONLY GIVE YOU MY OVERWHELMING GRATITIUDE AND EMOTION. (heart heart heart heart heart)

Like, no, seriously. I love you all.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter, where the doubt's begun to filter into Edward's mind and the search for him is finally picking up. 8D Next chapter will be fun—we'll encounter the "poisonous floor" and the "impossible test chamber." Remember those, Portal fans? I do, for sure. Test 08 was where I died for the first time.

(Haha. Poor Ed…)


	4. Chapter 4

**Test Subject: **Edward Elric  
**Day: **3  
**Time: **11:25 a.m.  
**Location: **Elevator 07  
**Testing Progress: **Entering Test Chamber 08  
_ -Aperture Laboratories_

* * *

The more Edward thought about it, the more he was sick and tired of this place. Curveball after curveball was being thrown at him—and for what? Scientific _results? _And results for _what?_

He frowned heavily as he regarded the room before him.

"Please note that we have added a consequence for failure. Any contact with the chamber floor will result in an unsatisfactory mark on your official testing record. Followed by death. Good luck!"

_Well, doesn't She sound cheery? _Edward peered over the railing that lined the raised platform he was on, and gazed at the icky-looking brown-green slime that filled the floor._ As if just by one look I couldn't already decide it'd kill me if I touched it. _He scoffed, turning and walking down the walkway. He noticed the orange portal open up on the left side of the room, hovering above another raised platform. And as soon as he heard the familiar sound of a round, dome-shaped device opening and firing an energy pellet, Edward spun around and saw one on his side of the room close, the ball of electricity now hovering towards the opposite end of the room.

Quickly, Edward aimed the portal gun and fired. The ball hummed through the connected portals, floating now towards the right wall.

But only…there wasn't a waiting jaw-like contraption there for it.

Golden eyes snapped around the room, searching quickly for the accompanying device for the energy pellet, and quickly spied it further on down the right side of the room. Acting as fast as he could (because by now, the sparking ball had bounced off of the steel tiles and was floating back towards the orange circle), Edward's eyes followed the direction the mouth was facing, trying to line up the appropriate place where he should fire the blue portal.

Once he fired it, he waited as the ball passed through, holding his breath and hoping he had made his estimation right.

He did.

Releasing his breath, Edward watched as the now-activated "unstationary scaffold" slowly began to move—except, not _towards _the walkway he was on. Actually, it moved away and towards the exit on the other side of the room. He rolled his eyes. _'Course. Can't be easy. Naturally the tests have to get harder._

Firing a blue portal on the wall next to him, Edward walked through and onto the platform underneath the orange portal. Keeping away from the edge (because, well, this one didn't have a railing and he wasn't about to catapult himself into gooey, acidic mess), Edward lined up the gun to fire another blue portal on the other side of the wall that, when the scaffold slowly trudged its way back to its original position, he would be able to hop through.

The whole process to get to the exit took a bit longer than Edward would have liked—but only because the glass platform was moving so achingly slowly.

It wasn't until he had walked through the tingling emancipation grille that She spoke again.

"Very impressive. Please note that any appearance of danger is merely a device to enhance your testing experience."

_Ha. Sure._

Edward grumbled, entering the elevator and turning around. If he could have crossed his arms over his chest—he would have. But as it was, the stupid, bulky portal gun felt uncomfortable against his chest, with hard, jutting metal pressing into skin, so he kept himself from doing it.

With the characteristic stutter and groan, the elevator began to lift once more.

And then, his stomach decided to tell him it was hungry.

_Grrrrrrrrumble rumble rumble._

Startled, Edward looked down at his abdomen. Did it really…just do that? And that expressively, too? That was the loudest it had been in a while—and with that absurd realization, Edward then began to laugh. Even once the elevator doors slid open, he pressed himself to the side of the lift, snickering away his amusement.

_If only Al could see me right now…_

But the thought of Al again brought that tender pain to Edward—and a sharp reminder.

_Gotta keep moving._

Pressing his mouth into a thin line and with a shove, he propelled himself out of the elevator and into the next short hallway that quickly opened up into another tall, all steel-and-white-paneled room—except for the wall to the right of him, which was covered in that rubber-black material. There was a raised platform on part of the opposite wall that jutted forward (the orange portal appeared above it), with beside it, in the further back part of the wall, a clear tube that deposited a storage weight cube to the ground as soon as he entered.

Right on cue, She, too, began to speak.

"The Enrichment Center regrets to inform you that this next test is impossible. Make no attempt to solve it."

That made Edward grin—wide and toothy. "Huh. Impossible, you say?"

Oh, he'd gladly show them wrong. And not only with this puzzle, either.

Firing his blue portal underneath the large box, he let it drop through the orange ring and onto the raised platform before following it through. Once there, his eyes quickly scanned the rest of the room. On the now-left wall that was covered in ebony, Edward noticed two things. The regular doorway that revealed the red button in the adjoined room was barred by an emancipation grille—which, he knew, would disintegrate his weighted storage cube. So that was a no-go.

However, there _was_ a small square hole at the top of the wall that was almost like a window to the next room…

"The Enrichment Center apologizes for this clearly broken test chamber."

Edward fired his blue portal through the window and onto the wall beyond. Then, mission complete, he carefully squatted to heft up the storage cube with his flesh arm up onto his shoulder for easy travelling. It was a careful process, squeezing through the portal hole with the box on his shoulder, but he eventually made it through and hopped down to the floor in the adjacent room.

"Once again, the Enrichment Center offers its most sincere apologies on the occasion of this unsolvable test environment."

"There are _other _things you guys should be apologizing for," Edward couldn't help but mutter, dropping the box once he had landed and beginning to "roll" it over to the red button as best as he could. However, he ended up simply propping his flesh shoulder against it and pushing it towards the button—which was a much easier process.

"Frankly, this chamber was a mistake. If we were you, we would quit now."

"Well, you aren't me."Edward smirked as he finally stepped back—the box resting on its intended location. "And if there's one thing about Elrics—it's that _we don't quit._"

There was a click, and She was pleased.

"Fantastic. You remained resolute and resourceful in an atmosphere of extreme pessimism."

Edward chuckled, scratching the back of his head tiredly as he turned and made for the circle-door, now opened to the small passageway that would lead to the next elevator. "Wouldn't be the first time, lady. I eat pessimism for breakfast. I mean, we're practically on a first-name basis, by now."

…okay, who was he really talking to?

Sighing—_I'm going crazy—_and once back in another elevator—Edward leaned back against the side of the lift as his stomach rumbled again. This time, even louder.

The boy winced.

"Hey—are we almost done? I'm starving," he called out, gingerly rubbing his stomach.

No one responded.

"…I mean it. Really. I think my insides are going to devour one another."

Still nothing.

But the elevator doors opened, revealing another dark-grey steel hallway. A poignant, annoying message, as if saying, _We don't care. We still want you to test._

Edward grit his teeth. _Okay. Screw this. Two can play at this game. _And with a huff, he slid down against the wall of the lift, landing on his rear and kicking out his legs as languidly as possible. He stuck his nose in the air.

"Well, guess we've reached a stalemate. I'm not moving. Not until you feed me."

Nothing happened. Edward decided to make himself a bit more comfortable, lounging further down the wall.

"Yep. It's getting awfully comfy…"

* * *

**Test Subject: **Edward Elric  
**Day: **3  
**Time: **1:12 p.m.  
**Location: **Elevator 09  
**Testing Progress: **Refusing to Continue Testing Due to Hunger. Catalyst Needed.  
_ -Aperture Laboratories_

* * *

When Winry saw the door to her room open, she had assumed it would be Mr. Rattman with her lunch. She had definitely gotten to know the kind man better through the meals he continually brought her—but unfortunately, he had not yet confided any helpful information to her even after their friendly conversations. However, when what met her eyes instead were several grim-faced scientists who charged inside and straight for her, she felt icy, lightning fear dance along her nerves. She shot to her feet.

"Hey—what's going on—?"

She pulled away from the first hands that reached to grab her, jumping back onto her bed, and raising her arms in defense. The men at the front paused at her bedside, hands open and waiting for her, but making no further move to reach for her.

"Miss Winry Rockbell, we have no intention of hurting you. However, we do request that you come with us—quietly and willingly—for just a moment. We are in need of your assistance."

She glared at them, fisting her hands and wishing suddenly—so dearly and strongly—for her trusty wrench. "Yeah. Sure. Last time you said that you made me _ruin _my own automail work on my best friend—whom, by the way, you've thrown into a life-threatening rat maze. Explain to me how, so far, I have reason to trust what you say?"

"We have no intention of harming anyone, Miss Winry. Please believe us."

"_No_!" Winry shouted. She felt like a child—stupid and stubborn and refusing to meet her parent's wishes—but she tried to hold to her conviction steadfast. "Just go away! I won't help you anymore!"

Another scientist spoke up. "We're not using you to hurt him, Miss Winry—"

"—I don't care!" She glared at them as hard as she could, willing her sea-blue eyes to stiffen icily as she hissed. "I don't want to ever be associated with the horrible things you do! Never! I refuse to be your pawn—"

"Winry."

The girl's blue eyes shot towards the doorway where a tired, worried Doug Rattman (who looked far more haggard with his dark beard and hair more scraggly than ever) gazed at her with pleading pale eyes. "I'm sorry," he swallowed—the room was completely silent save for his voice. The other scientists watched their co-worker as he continued. "But please do as they say. We promise we won't hurt anyone—we just need you for a moment."

There was something in his eyes that chilled Winry. What was that—worry? Apprehension?

Or pure downright _fear_?

_Something's wrong._

The blonde swallowed, keeping her eyes locked on her single friend's as she hesitantly and tightly asked, "…what for?"

* * *

"…Aperture Science Laboratories would like to take this moment to say that the consumption of food and nourishments, at this time, is inadvisable."

Edward grit his teeth, stomach rumbling painfully. "Why _not_?"

"The next test requires strenuous activity. Consumption of food might inhibit the necessary performance skills to pass the test."

"I don't care about the stupid test!" Edward shouted. He was half-tempted to stand up and fire pointlessly at the elevator ceiling with his portal gun—if only to vent out his frustration. But…that wouldn't do anything. Not only was the ceiling immune to portals, the very thing denying him _food_ wasn't even really…human.

That got him on a whole other subject. "Look—is there any _real_ _person _there I can talk to? Someone real and _not _a pre-recorded message?"

A startled silence left in his wake, and Edward—as strange as it was—got the instant inkling that maybe…he had offended Her? Somehow?

"(TEST SUBJECT NAME HERE), you have been mistaken. My voice is not a pre-recorded message."

Edward frowned. He could disagree—disagree very hard because heck, Her voice had all the automatic drawl and tone throughout it; how was She _not _a programmed robot? Yet She was insisting She wasn't—was that, too, an automated message? Or was this…piece of technology really talking to him? Right now? Understanding what he was saying and responding?

What _was_ She?

But before he could speak—She was already talking again.

"Please get up so the testing may continue."

"_No_." Edward bared his teeth to the ceiling. Something in him was snapping—breaking—a resolve hardening and refusing to cooperate with Her anymore. In part driven by hunger, in part driven by the desperation to go home that he'd been fighting to ignore up until this point when it became a boiling mass clogging up his throat with fears and doubts. "Let's face it: you haven't given me the best of motivation to keep me going. You've kidnapped me. I don't know where I am. I don't know if everyone I know is okay. You've taken my automail. You forced me to stick this (_admittedly pretty cool_) gun on instead and do your stupid _chores_ for you. And _now _you won't feed me. No. I'm _not _going to do your testing. So thank you. Good-bye. _Let me go home_."

"(TEST SUBJECT NAME—"

"—_it's Edward!" _he shouted, shooting forward from where he had been lounging back against the elevator wall, growling and angry and _he was still a person, dang it. _"My _name _is—"

"—Edward!"

Chills shot up and down his body as he shot to his feet, feeling dizzy and nauseous and _oh gosh, she really is here, isn't she? _He had been hoping that hearing her voice during that surgery had been his imagination, a vain grasp for something to keep him sane while in the midst of so much pain. But…

"W-Winry…?" he gasped, looking up and around and anywhere—and damn it, where were those cameras? Could she see him?

"Ed!" There was _relief _in her voice—and something else, something raw. Something he didn't like there.

He stumbled forward, towards the front of the elevator, glancing around desperately. There was only a small steel hallway in front of him—and what looked like orange-lined stairs ahead. No camera. No Winry. "Win, where are you? Are you okay? Have they hurt you?"

She sounded close to tears. _Goshdangit, she's not supposed to cry. _"Of course. Ugh, you _idiot_; _you're_ the one they've hurt. And yet you still ask about _me _first."

So she was okay? "Win, what's going on? Do you know? What are you _doing _here?"

When she spoke next, her voice came over halteringly—fuzzily. As if someone was trying to interfere and speak instead. Was it _Her?_

"I—I can't…plain ev…thing. Sorr…so sorry. I really a…plea…orgive…"

"Winry, I can't hear you." Something like desperation clawed at Edward's chest, a child frightened of the dark and wanting to cling so tightly to that last glimmering reserve of light. "Winry!"

There was a pause, something garbled—completely unintelligible—and then her voice came over again, hurried and rushed. "Sorry. I don't have much time. Apparently, _She's _trying to interfere—"

"—who _is _She?"

"GLaDOS," came Winry's quick response. More distortions in sound—Edward couldn't make out anything that was said for a few moments, before Winry's voice returned, loud and shouting, and dang it, _why did she sound so afraid_? "ED—CAN YOU HEAR ME?"

"YES!" he shouted back. "I can hear you, Winry! It's okay! I'm right here! I won't let them hurt you!"

"I'm not worried about _me_, idiot! They won't harm me! It's _you _I'm worried about!" Why? What danger was he in? He was only completing stupid "tests." It was nothing more than that.

There was a small pause, and then Winry began speaking again. "They're telling me you really should finish this test before you eat—for your own good. I…I don't know why. But they—um—" Another pause—was she listening to someone right now? So there really _were_ other people here? "—um, they're promising you'll get cake once you're done with all of the testing…"

The suggestion made Edward pause. "Cake."

He could almost imagine Winry nodding back as she said, "Yeah. Cake."

Stunned silence.

"…a bit weird, isn't it?" Winry offered.

"Eh. It's a celebratory food. I'm hungry enough—I'll take anything I can get." Even as he spoke, Edward turned and began to head for the end of the hallway. "Just tell them they better have extra icing on it."

Winry laughed—_laughed. _And it was such a soul-settling, aching thing that Edward almost forgot how to breathe. _ I miss you so much._He came to a stop and looked at the ceiling—overcome—and not able to hide his worries anymore. "And Winry?"

"I—uh—I have to go, but—yes?"

He couldn't say anything else but his brother's name—in a desperate hope that she understood. "…Alphonse…"

Winry's voice was gentle—compassionate—sympathetic as she responded. "Not here, Ed. He's safe, as far as I know. They don't have him."

Relief. It came over so strongly—so overpoweringly—Edward didn't even realize he had been holding onto that deep worry and pain so long that when it was finally gone, he sagged to the side. Almost disoriented, as if the question had been physically burdening him down.

"Thank you," he muttered, nearly whispering—although not quite sure who to.

And he took that moment—he didn't care how long—to just revel in the great, overwhelming comfort that he was the only one at danger here. Everyone else—as far as he knew—was safe and out of the hands of Aperture Laboratories. _Good, _he thought. _Good. _The silence, however, didn't last as long as he would have liked it to.

There was a pause, before She—no, "She" had a name, now, _GLaDOS—_spoke once more.

"Hello again. To reiterate—" –_garble, garble, distorted information— "—_momentum."

…Momentum? Edward straightened up and grudgingly looked forward. Oh yeah. Testing. There _was_ that.

He supposed he could trudge through it. If it meant getting to Winry. If it meant returning to his brother.

If it meant cake.

However, upon reaching the orange-lit stairs at the end of the hallway, realizing he had entered another tall room, Edward frowned heavily.

Okay. So there was no physical way he was going to be able to make it to that first step. (And not because he was short, dang it—he _wasn't short._) But only because—there really was no physical way. It was above his head.

_And my orange portal is…?_

He looked all around—even behind him—before he happened to look up above the doorway he had come through and saw a panel standing out from the wall. On it, hovering and closed, was the orange portal he had been looking for. Except—it wasn't where he'd thought it would be. It wasn't anywhere near the stairs that he had to climb up to get through the open and awaiting door. So then, what…?

_Momentum._

Edward frowned, looking at the ground beneath his braced feet. _Gravity…inertia…_ The physics began to gather in his head, data that might be helpful in this situation. But the idea he began to get was crazy. Would it work?

_Well, it's worth a try. _

Even if it _was _crazy.

Firing the blue portal beneath his feet, Edward felt the ground fall out from under him—and before he knew it, he could feel himself _soaring._

For a little bit, anyway.

He tried to land as best as he could on the stairs, but ended up tripping and falling forward (_At least it wasn't backward_) and knocking his nose and forehead harshly on the steel steps. He groaned, wincing and pushing himself as best as he could with his one arm up and to his feet. _Damn, _that fall hurt. And he felt weird, nauseous—sick all over.

But…it was still kind of cool.

Flying.

If that's what he could have called it.

He hardly looked up as he saw the black-orb camera on the wall to his left, raising his gun and firing a portal at it to sever it from the wall and let it fall to the floor, walking by without a care to what he just did. Part of him was still getting over the rush of actually _flying._

"Certain objects may be vital to your success. Do not destroy Vital Testing Apparatus."

Edward really didn't know how a camera would be "vital" to his "success," but whatever. Let GLaDOS say what she wanted to, what she thought was important.

He had bigger hurdles to jump.

The circle-door closed directly behind him after he walked through, but Edward paid it no mind, entering the next gaping room of black-rubber walls that annoyed him upon instant sight of them. However, the room was thinner than he originally thought upon entering; curious—because, well, his side of the room ended in a cliff—and the other side, where the other door was, was on a completely separate floor—he walked forward, stopping upon seeing two small white panels with more stick figures near the edge of his floor's end.

One featured a stick figure falling into one of the portals that was far below him—the other featured him literally, _flying_ like some sort of superhero, out of the other.

_Okay._

Edward peered over the edge and saw the checkered floor a story beneath him. He looked up and over his back, where—as he suspected—and just like the room before—there was a panel sticking out with the closed orange portal humming on it.

…_okay._

Before he could second-guess himself, (he was always, somehow, good at that so he never had to listen to his Inner-Alphonse's voice of caution) Edward fired the blue portal at the floor below and took a running leap off the ledge to jump straight through. He curled up instinctively upon nearing the ground—_Crap, I hope my aim wasn't off—_but when he felt no impact and instead, the continuing rush of flight, he couldn't help but gasp.

Landing was easier—considering it wasn't steps this time, but actual solid ground—but Edward's stomach felt much worse than before. It churned grumpily, anguished as he stumbled a bit, skin paling.

Yet overwhelming shock and some sort of belated, dull joy erupted within him.

_I can _fly.

"Spectacular. You appear to understand how a portal affects forward momentum, or to be more precise, how it does not."

He didn't bother with her words—even though they didn't make any sense, really—and stumbled through the open circle-doorway. _Wait until I tell Winry—wait until I tell Al! Wait until I rub it in that smug Colonel Bastard's face—I actually _flew.

The next room—once again, nearly completely filled with that portal-repelling black stuff—excited him at the same time it filled him with bad apprehension.

He had no idea why, but immediately ran to the edge of the floor he was on, examining the stair case that hugged the walls as it winded down to the floor—where the orange portal had already been set for him.

A curious set-up, that was for sure.

So now he had to set where to fly to? He turned around, expecting the jutting-out panel, and fired his blue portal on it. Then, he repeated his process, taking a running start and jumping through the now-open orange circle and flying through his blue one, landing on an opposite ledge that wasn't—not quite yet—the end. The emancipation grille, he could see if he backed up, and through it, the open doors to the next elevator, were on the ledge high above his.

So now, he only had to use the "momentum" thing one more time.

"Momentum, a function of mass and velocity, is conserved between portals. In layman's terms: speedy-thing goes in, speedy-thing comes out."

…_okay._

He didn't really pay attention to anything she was saying at the moment. Too focused was he on trying to keep his innards together, and too focused was he on the panels which had just shifted forward so he could fire a new blue portal closer and aimed at his final, intended destination.

But Edward wasn't prepared for the nausea that finally caught up with him after his last flight of momentum.

Maybe part of it was because he nearly did a complete 360-degree turn to right himself with gravity while in mid-flight and mid portal-crossing. Maybe part of it was because he simply left his stomach back on the lower ledge and forgot to pick it up when he went to make his final jump.

Whatever it was, promptly after landing on his quaking, wobbly legs, Edward tottered over to the side and immediately puked up whatever he didn't have in his stomach.

The joy of flight was now extinguished.

And Edward felt miserable.

_Damn it, I better get that cake after this._

GLaDOS said not a word as more bile came up his contracting throat.

* * *

As soon as Winry was done speaking with Edward—although she didn't want to be—she didn't want to be torn away from the one familiar thing in this entire facility of strange, foreign matter—Rattman came forward for her and took her arm, gently yet firmly leading her away from the hubble of scientists as they ran back to their stations for more analysis of their subject's testing.

But he also began leading her _away_ from her temporary "room" there at Aperture Laboratories.

"Mr. Rattman—?"

"I'm sorry, Miss Rockbell. I truly am."

His apology made her blink in surprise as she stumbled alongside him to keep up with his frantic, hurried pace. "You don't have to be sorry. It's not you—it's those other dumb scientists that—"

"—no. No." Rattman shook his head in minute frustration, turning a sharp corner and pulling her along with him. She nearly tripped and forced him to drag her, but they caught balance once again and didn't stop at all their clipped pace. "I…I still must apologize. It's not safe for you out here anymore."

Winry swallowed. She remembered the scientists' worry while she was speaking with Edward. There had been clear interference in the communication lines—clear distortions—and every one of them had started saying something about "GLaDOS" this or "GLaDOS" that. And they were all _worried. _It had seeped into her, because whoever this "GLaDOS" was, from what she could understand, Edward was practically at Her mercy, since She was the one in charge of the testing. The one pulling the ropes.

As Rattman slid his identification card through a reader slot, gained clearance, pushed open a door and began to lead her down a steel staircase, Winry dared to ask, "What is GLaDOS, Mr. Rattman? Why are you all so afraid of her? What's happening? Is Ed safe?" _And why, out of all people, did you even take _him_?_

Her companion didn't answer her at first, leading her down, down—nearly three stories before stopping at the bottom and opening the door for them to pass through. There was no natural light from windows here, and Winry could only assume they were far, far underground. It was cold, dark steel lining this hallway with bright, artificial lighting above them that gave Winry more goosebumps than she'd admit. She shivered, and huddled closer to the haggard man beside her.

"Besides the portal device, GLaDOS is our pride and joy. She's a near-perfect artificial intelligence, integrated with a human soul and emotive cores. She was…designed to be the guide for our test subjects."

Winy frowned. The passed through another door and into another hallway. "You make her sound so good."

Rattman laughed—but not happily, not uplifting. His laugh was bitter. "That was our intention—that she would be good. That she would be fair. That she would be made strictly for the goals of science and research." He halted only slightly, before picking up his brisk pace again. "She's…learning, though. Beginning to show preferences, as any human or proper A.I. should. Naturally, she thinks that her methods of testing are better than ours. This is causing…disruptions."

They came to a stop before a heavy, dark-blue steel door that required another entry key before entrance. It was there, before he even pulled out his card to swipe, that Rattman squatted down to Winry's height and placed his hands on either side of her shoulders, gripping her encouragingly.

"I'm going to have to ask you to be very brave, Winry."

It was the first time he called her by her name.

Blue eyes met lighter, paler blue as she swallowed, putting more courage into her words than she actually felt. "That's not hard. I grew up with two of the most bravest people in the world."

"Don't I know it," Rattman smiled fondly. "Because that boy is going to have to be very brave for what I'm afraid is going to happen."

Winry grasped for answers desperately. "What _is _going to happen, Mr. Rattman?"

The man looked into her eyes very deeply, carefully, before sighing. "When developing GLaDOS, there was one core we never attached to her, because we didn't even think to do so. As human beings, we take this aspect of ourselves so for granted, that we forget we have it internally. I've created a core for it myself in the case that something like this should happen—and I'm afraid I'm going to have to attach it to her very soon if we hope to live."

His words made her blink, realizing a sense of gravity to the situation that hadn't been there before. "Hope to live…?"

"GLaDOS doesn't have a morality core yet, Miss Rockbell. And I believe she's going to very soon try and get rid of the scientists—because she will see absolutely nothing wrong with that—and continue on with her own version of 'testing.'"

Winry's eyes widened. "Get—get rid of you? But—how?"

"Neurotoxic gas," Rattman answered. Part of him protested vehemently to telling her this—she was just a fourteen-year-old girl!—but something also told him that he owed her this much, at least. After all the harm, and stress he had been causing her and her friend so far. "GLaDOS has access to it—one of the few deadly chemicals we possess in this facility, and I believe she will not hesitate to put it in the ventilation system to kill us."

The blonde girl began to shake under his hands. "S-so…we're going to d-die…?"

"No." Rattman tightened his grip on her shoulders and looked her in the eye firmly. "Look at me—you and your friend will _not _die, Miss Rockbell. GLADoS would only ever try and kill us scientists, the ones who are being nuisances to her—she wouldn't dare touch her beloved test subjects, which is why I brought you here."

Winry's eyes widened, and she looked to the large navy-blue door beside them. "There are others here?"

Rattman nodded. "They haven't been tested yet, but this is where they are staying while they are waiting for their turn. This is why I'm going to have to ask you to be brave, Winry. I don't know what kind of people they are—all I know is that they are either homeless or unemployed, and they are in desperate need of the money we foolishly offered them if they would test for us."

Oh. Well. Okay. Winry nodded, mouth setting into a grim line as she turned to look at him with her piercing dark blue gaze. "Okay. So I'm safe here. Great. That's fine. But she won't hurt Ed, right?"

Rattman smiled and shook his head. "She won't hurt Ed. He's her most valuable test subject. She wouldn't dare harm him."

But as he unlocked the door and allowed Winry entrance, he couldn't help but think: _Not yet, anyway._

Because he could ensure Edward's safety during the entire testing process. But after his usefulness was up?

What would GLaDOS do with him then?

* * *

**Test Subject: **Edward Elric  
**Day: **3  
**Time: **4:53 p.m.  
**Location: **Elevator 10  
**Testing Progress: **(Note: Finally) Finished Test Chamber 10. En Route to Test Chamber 11.  
_ -Aperture Laboratories_

* * *

**Crystal's Notes (EDIT): **Was this one long enough? 8D I added almost four pages to the length. Hopefully it didn't drag.

For some reason, I always think there's nothing to say until I get a review. And then, most likely, that reviewer's like "Oh, so I see..." or they'll be like "Um, wait, so what?" And then I go, "...oh. Should have mentioned that."

So, I fixed GLaDOS' name (because...I'm an idiot; forgive my idiocy). I also would like to point out to avid Portal fans that this is a mix of the MOD Portal-Prelude and the first Portal game. I melding them together for the time being, partially to fill some plotholes and partially because I want to get as fast as I can to Portal 2, which is where all the fun stuff truly is (Wheatley. Need I say more?).

Thank you, and more comments, suggestions, critique, are welcome with open arms. (heart heart)


	5. Chapter 5

**Test Subject: **Edward Elric  
**Day: **3  
**Time: **5:27 p.m.  
**Location: **Test Chamber 10  
**Testing Progress: **Attaining Modification of Aperture Science Handheld Portal Device.  
_ -Aperture Laboratories_

* * *

It took him a while to get to the other "gun"—or really, the other "part" of it, even though it was contained inside a look-a-like portal device. Mainly, it took so long because he had to continuously wait and wait on another energy pellet to finally get into the mouth-jaw device, but it finally worked out.

And here he stood, now in control of _both _portals, instead of just the blue one.

Edward couldn't help but grin.

"The device has been modified so that it can now manufacture two linked portals at once. As part of an optional test protocol, we are pleased to present an amusing fact. The device is now more valuable than the organs and combined incomes of everyone in (SUBJECT HOMETOWN HERE)."

That wiped the grin clean from his face.

Straightening and glaring at the ceiling, Edward frowned. There wasn't a camera in sight on which to display his particular set of emotions about _that _comment.

So instead, the blond resorted to pressing his lips together in firm disapproval, and slamming his fist against the red button in front of him. Hearing the immediate click and slide of a panel-door, Edward looked up, located the now open-doorway, and fired his blue portal through it and onto the wall on the other side. Spinning, he also fired his orange portal on the wall opposite him—the wall that the "unstationary scaffold" would, once it neared him again, lead him to.

He was tired. Tired, tired, _tired. _He wanted to go _home. _He wanted to search for the philosopher's stone. Everything, everything—_but be here._

"How many more of these stupid tests are there?" Edward shouted once he was back in an elevator. "Because you know, I have things to do!"

Once again, there was no response.

But he was expecting that, now; the silence didn't surprise him.

That didn't make him any less frustrated.

(Or any less hungry.)

* * *

Mustang's patience was short. After the several hours he had to spend on the train ride to get to Resembool, there was absolutely no evidence as to where Miss Rockbell—or Fullmetal—had been taken. Nothing at all—not a crumb, a letter, a hair—anything.

So when his phone rang and he immediately picked it up and barked, "You better have something good," and Havoc responded, "Keep your pants on, Sir, I'm getting to that. I swear what I have to say will make your day," he was allowed a little bit of doubt. Pulling the phone away from his ear and stomping outside of the Rockbell residence and into the fresh, country air, he let himself fume for a moment. Both Pinako and Hawkeye stood in the doorway behind him, watching him as he stood still and silent, poised as a funnel cloud ready to stir up disaster.

It took a minute, but finally, he brought the phone back up to his ear and replied, "Okay. Shoot."

"We think we know where he is."

* * *

GLaDOS was getting harder and harder to control. Usually, Rattman had been able to try and reason with her—because she wasn't just some AI they could normally shut down. She had a developing intelligence, and Rattman always tried to exercise it, teach it, through their intercourses rather than resorting to simple binary codes and programs to forcibly change her mind.

She never liked that. (What child _did_ like being forced to do things?)

So, he would try to reason with her. And it was working—had been working. But lately…she's been getting smarter.

Smarter than even him.

"GLaDOS, please listen to me—"

"—gathered data has proven 'listening to Aperture Laboratory scientists' is only 15% of the time conducive to statistically significant testing results."

Rattman sighed. "That's not true. We have provided the best test subject you could ask for, haven't we? That was part of _our_, as the Aperture Laboratory scientists, influence. You could not have found him on your own."

"Part of your statement is found incorrect. 'Best test subject,' is, in fact, subjective. Not a conclusion. However, 'most dangerous test subject,' is, in fact, objective—proven from comparison against previous test subjects. And it is true. This test subject is volatile. Proven from previous encounter with (TEST SUBJECT'S FRIEND HERE), _he_ has people he is inclined to. He is operating from the human desire of returning to them, because he was forcibly taken from them. Said abduction was conducted on the part of Aperture Laboratory's scientists, and was a poorly-planned maneuver, as it has extracted these dangerous emotions from the test subject."

_She really _has _thought about this._ Rattman swallowed. "That case may be, but that doesn't prove—"

"—Proven Conclusion: Aperture Laboratory scientists are unneeded. Your 'intelligence' is providing a hindrance to the testing."

It was over. Rattman knew it. There was no going back—nothing he could do now.

He could only turn, run, and head for his final back-up plan just as he heard the devastating click, whirr, and hissing of the ventilation shafts above his head.

"Goodbye."

* * *

Edward was pretty sure no bones had broken in his body when he slammed into the black rubber wall. At least, he hoped so. That didn't, however, mean it hurt any less as he crumbled to the steel walkway below, leading to the emancipation grille and beyond that, the next elevator.

He gasped for air, the oxygen having been rushed out of his lungs at such a rough impact.

But She was silent through his pain, and by the time he stumbled to his feet and entered the elevator, still heaving for breath, she still said not a word.

It wasn't until the elevator stopped, the doors opened, and Edward had stepped into test chamber 13, peering through the window to see what sort of puzzle he was going to have to escape from, that GLaDOS finally spoke.

"Now that you are in control of both portals, this next test could take a very, very long time. If you become lightheaded from thirst, feel free to pass out. An intubation associate will be dispatched to revive you with peptic salve and adrenaline."

The cold hand called resolve that already gripped Edward's spine strengthened its hold. He grit his teeth—_They don't care, do they?_—and pushed himself forward.

And if he were to be honest with himself…Edward was surprised at how someone's lack of concern for him…hurt. Like an aching throb in his chest, echoing into a cavern. After all, he had thought…he was important. Thought people cared. Thought that what he at least mattered to someone.

(_Alphonse._)

But the longer he spent here and the longer she spoke with him with such detached honesty, he wondered if maybe he didn't matter after all.

Was the Fullmetal Alchemist just another dog?

* * *

When Mustang shut the phone and turned around to face his Lieutenant, Riza straightened to attention, giving him her fullest respect and posture. He walked toward her smoothly, all business and conduct—and with that, she knew, deep down in her soul, that Havoc had indeed found a good lead.

Her Colonel hadn't, at least, broken his stature yet.

He nodded to her as he passed by and into the Rockbell estate. "Put on your coat, Lieutenant. We're headed west."

* * *

The rooms passed by as achingly slowly at times as fast as they did at others. Edward had no way to keep track of them all; his movements were nearly all automatic by now, figuring out the puzzles subconsciously and letting his body do the work.

_"All subjects intending to handle high-energy gamma-leaking portal technology must be informed that they may be informed of applicable regulatory compliance issues. No further compliance information is required or will be provided, and you are an excellent test subject."_

Aim. Fire. _Shwoop. _Step. Jump. Lift. Repeat.

_"The Enrichment Center is committed to the well-being of all participants. Cake and Grief Counseling will be available at the conclusion of the test. Thank you for helping us help you help us all."_

Grief counseling. Whoever said he needed grief counseling? He just needed to get _out of here. _How many test chambers were there? Which room was he now on? Which one was the last one? How many more to go?

When would this finally be _over_?

_When can I see Al again?_

Almost pushing the elevator doors open himself, Edward stumbled out of the lift and gazed forward into the short hallway in front of him. There he saw that on the far wall rested the tall, rectangular sign that was _supposed_ to light up and show him what number test chamber was next. Beside it, on the wall to the left at the end of the corridor, sat the small round door. Closed.

Edward frowned and walked forward. He'd bust down that door if he had to. He just wanted out.

"Due to mandatory scheduled maintenance, the appropriate chamber for this testing sequence is currently unavailable. It has been replaced with a live-fire course designed for military androids."

Military androids? Ed's pace slowed the slightest as he neared the end of the hallway and angled himself to face both the round door and the unlit sign. _The military has androids? Since when? Does Mustang know about this?_

"The Enrichment Center apologizes for the inconvenience, and wishes you the best of luck."

"Touching sentiments, I'm sure," Edward muttered coarsely.

Finally the sign flickered on at that moment, simultaneously with the opening of the round doors to his left. Test Chamber 16, it read. There were only three warning squares blacked in. _Beware of falling boxes—boxes which could hit you on the head. Beware of 'military androids' firing at you._

Convenient.

Edward walked in with trepidation, already seeing in front of him, through the glass, what he could assume were the "military androids." From what he could see, they looked relatively harmless—except for that thin red line they spewed from their "eye." _Almost like a trip wire,_ Edward noted. _Probably a motion detector. That, or their line of fire. _

Originally, after disposing of the security camera high on the wall in front of him, Edward planned to never have to find that out. He wanted to sneak around them using the portals, so they never even knew he was there.

That plan backfired after walking forward and discovering there was an android _right there _in the doorway on his left.

_But it's looking the other way_, _not even at me. _So Edward tip toed forward, around it, just to observe the white, three-legged machine. He could see printed in very tiny letters on its side, _Turrets. _That alone made Edward smirk. Turrets, huh? _Not very big compared to the turrets I've seen. _Actually, they practically seemed harmless. Edward snickered.

Until he heard the familiar sound of bullets smashing into glass.

Instinctively, Edward fled back to the hallway of the room, pressing himself flat against the wall and wondering—_How the heck did they know I was there?—_until he looked to the side, far beyond through the glass to another set of glass, in which there were many bullet-punctures—and a turret behind it, it's red light searching for him.

_It saw me all the way over here?_

Pushing himself off the wall, Edward walked forward, keeping close to the side so the turret wouldn't see him again. _Good thing the glass is bullet-proof, though I wouldn't want to check and see how many bullets it could take before it shatters._

Oh. And that was another thing.

Who the _hell_ decided that this was an okay substitution course for their test subjects? Bullets? Really?

Although, maybe because it was a substitution course, normally, people didn't even face these. That would make sense—but no, at the same time, it really didn't. If so, then why was _he _facing the turrets? Did they know who he was? Were they testing _him _because he was, well, _him_?

_What's going on?_

So many unanswered questions that Edward knew, by instinct, now, weren't going to be answered by his not-so-friendly-guide GLaDOS. _Then, I'll just have to find out the answers myself._

He kicked down the turret in front of him—and almost laughed his head off at the reaction.

Lying on its side, it fired its bullets at random—everywhere—which made them bounce harmlessly off the black rubber hallway beyond the doorway, rendering them useless. And all this while screaming ineffectively. As soon as its fit was over, the panel doors on its side which had come out to reveal its miniature "turrets" slid back in, and the red eye flickered off.

"Good night," it hummed.

Edward scoffed, kicking it slightly with his toe again for good measure—just to make sure it was "off." When it didn't do anything, he chuckled.

"Cute."

And walked on.

* * *

"It will take a day to get out there, Sir," Riza noted, watching him as he placed his things in the above compartment. They had gotten to the Resembool train as fast as possible—but even that only saved them minutes, compared to the several hours they'd have to spend on the rails before they got to their destination.

Colonel Mustang nodded, finally sitting down across from her as soon as he was done. He placed his elbow on the window pane and set his chin in the curled palm of his hand as he regarded the people still milling about on the platform outside, even though it was so late.

He said nothing, but his Lieutenant understood the sentiments without them being voiced. Quietly, she looked outside as well.

A day more until we can rescue him.

_Whatever you are facing, last that long, Edward. Just long enough until we can get to you._

* * *

The turrets weren't so hard to get by. He just had to move quickly the instant they turned that gleaming red eye on him. Portal after portal was fired, security cameras dispatched, and turrets kicked over mercilessly—although, if Edward had to be honest, that part was somehow, oddly enough, very rewarding.

After pushing another turret down a small set of stairs, Edward hurried over to where there was a glass wall separating himself from another turret facing the side. He, himself, hugged the side as well just enough so the turret wouldn't see him and fire at him—at least, not until he was behind that bullet-proof glass.

As he tiptoed around the corner to do so, he didn't pay attention to where his back was, so when he suddenly heard a rather loud, _CHZZK_ coming from right beside him, he jumped, turned—and found something rather odd.

One of the wall panels was propped open thanks to two weighted storage cubes stacked on top of one another. The mechanisms trying to pull the panel back in sparked and sizzled in frustration, but Edward himself couldn't move, almost struck dumb and mystified by the sight.

_There's a way out._

While within the testing chambers, he had almost forgotten there was a world beyond the walls. Almost. He could remember faces, people, names, reasons and duties and obligations—but the fact that they weren't just memories and were actually still _real _snapped back into him at that moment. Without thinking, he hurried around to the other side of the open panel and pressed himself through the small gap to get behind the walls.

He crouched beneath the thick bar the wall panel was connected to, and squatted his way beyond—where the first thing he saw, written on the floor in bright red paint—at least, he hoped it was paint—

_HELP_

Suddenly, Edward's gut churned.

He almost stumbled to go back into the testing chamber, before he reminded himself, _That's stupid. Got to get out of here while I can, _and looked up.

There on the wall was what Edward would at first suppose was absolute gibberish. There were, however, five lines written in clear Amestrian that Edward had no problem reading. Their letters and meaning were absolutely clear—yet also seemed so childish.

_The cake is a lie  
The cake is a lie  
The cake is a lie  
The cake is a lie  
The cake is a lie__

"Gosh," Edward muttered to himself sarcastically. "I wonder if the cake's a lie." Although, he admitted to himself, he sincerely hoped it wasn't. He wanted food. Badly. The hunger was no longer an amusing growl—it was an aching, present _need._

Yet there was nothing else on the wall that really made sense. There were an incredible amount of tally marks—180 in total Edward found upon counting them—and then a rough sketch of a turret saying, "Hello? Can I help you?" Which, Edward had never heard them say yet, although they spoke with such cute voices he didn't have trouble imagining them ask that only to shoot you to a bloody death a second later.

_Bizarrely twisted things._

Turning around, Edward crouched back under the bar to get to the other side of the room and search for a door, seeing as how there hadn't been one on the other side. Yet what met his eye first were a group of black rubber boxes—and on top of them, a dismantled computer, a dirty white carton of milk and a dirty white can of beans. And although everything else could be disregarded—especially that carton, which he wanted nothing to do with—Edward bound forward just for the can, picking it up and shaking it to realize it still was full and unopened.

(Unlike another can he could see on the ground nearby—open and empty.)

At that moment, Edward really was far too excited to think about how disgusting beans, cold, uncooked—and who knew how old—would taste. He just wanted the food in his system. Now.

_Whoever left this behind, thank you. Thank you thank you thank you._

But getting the can open was a whole other matter.

Upon realizing his teeth wouldn't work, Edward banged it against the boxes, tried to fire a portal on the can lid, but it was too small—before finally deciding to resort to alchemy, because alchemy could do anything.

Unfortunately, because he had a portal gun for an arm now, that meant _basic _alchemy.

Hurrying back over to the wall where some madman had written gibberish, Edward searched and successfully found a small—almost a crumb—piece of black chalk, and rushed back to where his odd meal awaited, placing the can in the middle of the floor, kneeling down, and then beginning to trace a very simple transmutation circle—just one that would pop the can open.

Upon further thought, though, Edward decided it would be better if the beans were cooked, too. He added some temperature amenities to the circle.

But after finishing with the task, Edward leaned back and simply breathed for a moment. For a single second, he could do nothing else. He had forgotten how…_normal _alchemy felt. How similar to breathing it was. And after being deprived of it for so long, going back to it now was like re-entering home or being doused with water on a hot summer day.

_I've missed it._

But a sharp tug on his gut reminded him that he was still practically starving, and leaning forward, Edward placed his hand on the transmutation circle, watching it glow with satisfaction, and grinning at the top of the can peeled off to reveal a steaming can of beans.

The smell was almost heavenly.

_I've missed you, too, food._

Edward wasn't deterred by there not being any spoons at first. Now that he had done one transmutation, he became eager to do more. Grabbing the small piece of black chalk—no bigger than his thumbnail—he made another transmutation circle in the floor to procure from it a small metal spoon. Not ideal—it even tasted slightly rusty when he used it to scoop out the beans—but it served its purpose.

And although Edward noticed the beans tasted horrible without salt and other added spices and flavors, at that moment, he couldn't care less.

It was food, and his stomach was appreciating it.

That was really all that mattered.

What annoyed him, however, was that he couldn't bring himself to eat the entire thing. Perhaps it was after having gone from food for so long, that his stomach had shrunk and couldn't take eating the copious amounts it used to, or whatever, but Edward could eat no more than a third—perhaps only half—of the can of beans.

But that was all right. He'd save them and eat them later, he decided.

For now, after filling his stomach, Edward finally felt fatigue wash over him. Crawling over to the bed of black rubber boxes, he pushed the other, less important objects—_milk carton, ew ew ew ew—_off and pulled himself on top of them, sighing in relief.

It was comfier than the floor, which he had used twice already, at least.

Just as he was about to close his eyes, he finally located the door he had initially snuck into this rusty room for. The white thing, however, was on the far wall behind a chain gate that stretched as high as the ceiling did. It was shut off.

But strangely enough, this didn't bother Edward. Not yet, at least. Not with his stomach having just been satisfied.

For right now, Edward felt everything was going his way. Finally.

_Go on thinking you can keep me in. No matter what you try, I'll break through. I'll break free._

_It'll just be a matter of time._

The golden eyes finally closed to an easy sleep, a proud, excited smirk tickling the features. He would hold to that promise.

* * *

Rattman was extremely glad the child hadn't looked up.

Sure, he was encased in shadow, on top of black rubber boxes, so it made him hard to see anyway—but he had already seen that the kid was incredibly observant. He had found the remaining crumb of chalk leftover from a previous test subject. That, in itself, was an incredible find.

At least, he thought it was a previous test subject that had written those messages on the wall and floor…

Rattman was having a tough time determining that. He couldn't think of any test subjects that had managed to get behind the panels…

…_the cake is a lie—I know it is—they promised me it—but then they—tried—the cake—lies—LIES—_

He nearly fell over from the sudden lapse in time and memory. Shaking his head and regaining his sense of self—because he couldn't very well let the kid know he was _here_—Rattman forced himself, as he climbed down from his perch, to repeat the mantra he had made so that he always remembered who he was.

_Name? Doug Rattman. Age? Older than I'd like to be. Occupation? Ex-Aperture Scientist. I'm _not _a test subject. I am a scientist._

_Goal?_

…_goal…?_

…_get out…get out—get out—get out—get free—get free—GET OUT—_

_I AM DOUG RATTMAN._

Grasping the edge of a box as hard as he could, Rattman breathed hard. Breathed in air—air that was as fresh as it could be after being reprocessed. Not the deadly neurotoxin that GLaDOS had been spewing through the air ducts throughout the rest of the laboratory.

He had gotten only a minimal amount of it. But already, he could see it had terrible side-effects if it didn't kill you.

_Name? Doug Rattman. Age? Older than I'd like to be. Occupation?_

It could cause hallucinogenic amnesia.

…_occupation…?_

_A-Aperture Science…t…test…subject…right?_

_Goal?_

…_escape._

* * *

**Test Subject: **Edward Elric  
**Day: **4  
**Time: **3:23 a.m.  
**Location: **Test Chamber 16 (?)  
**Testing Progress: **Momentarily Unknown.  
_ -Aperture Laboratories_

* * *

**Crystal's Notes: **This chapter was SO hard to write! Dx It's always the most important ones that are that way, don't you agree? Because there needs to be that sense of everything's getting worse, time is passing, we've reached a turning point from which we can't turn back, and at the same time, I'm trying to retain the tone that I've kept throughout the whole piece so it doesn't get too dark (because I can do that so easily)…

Difficulty. However, I hope I have managed it, and I hope you all are enjoying this so far. I thank you guys SO MUCH for the new reviews I have gotten—I've finally reached 10! Haha! …Ha!

Sad, really. But at least some people are reading this and enjoying it. And for those of you who are, I thank you SO SO much. You are fantastic, beautiful, and wonderful people. I hope you know that.

I hope you enjoyed, and have a wonderful, blessed day! And if I don't update before the holidays:

MERRY EARLY CHRISTMAS!


	6. Chapter 6

**Test Subject: **Edward Elric  
**Day: **4  
**Time: **10:36 a.m.  
**Location: **Test Chamber 16 (?)  
**Testing Progress: **Unknown.  
_ -Aperture Laboratories_

* * *

Edward had thought it was a brilliant idea.

After recooking and eating as much as he could of the rest of the beans for breakfast (he had, after all, no place to actually store them as he continued "testing," so might as well get rid of them now, right?), he had exited the "secret" room and reentered the world of turrets, reorienting himself with the current situation.

There were two of them in front of him, both facing each other. So it wasn't like he could just surprise jump on one of them and be done. No, surprise-jumping on one of them would leave him open, vulnerable.

That was when he remembered the two weighted storage cubes still propping open the panel.

Pulling one of them off, he then pushed it as best he could towards the wall adjacent to the glass separating him from the turret he could see. He fired once, igniting the blue portal on the wall, and placed the cube in front of it.

_If I can't ninja-surprise the turret, then the box can do it for me._

It would be easy. Run around the corner, fire the orange portal above the turret's head, and then run back around the glass before it had a chance to fire. There. Woo. Simple. Quick.

He wasn't as fast as he thought.

What caught him off-guard was the red X painted on the ceiling—a prime location, Edward realized—in fact, the very exact place he had originally planned on firing his orange portal—so conveniently. But it was that split-second pause before he actually fired the device that gave the turret all the time it needed to locate him and shoot.

"There you are."

The next thing Edward was aware of as he stumbled back around the glass was white, hot _pain._ Scorching from his right side and thigh, making it hard to move, to breathe, to think straight—he heard and saw the flash of the bullets a little too late, after the hurt struck him numb—

—and without warning, nausea pulsed in his stomach, thick and swirling, in steady time with the pain as he stumbled to the floor.

_Crap, crap, no, don't lose it now, I just ate—I need that—_

Gasping, sweating and shaking on the only limb able to support him, Edward was so focused on keeping his food down in his stomach that he stared incomprehensibly for several minutes at the small red puddle beginning to slowly form—_drip, drip_—below him. It wasn't until the pain-induced nausea began to finally lighten that he became aware of what it really was.

…_damn it._

Easing himself back onto his knees, Edward panted and dizzily examined his side.

_Funny. That's a rather small hole to cause an awful lot of blood._

…_what am I thinking? This isn't funny. _Sighing to himself, Edward tore off the bottom of his white shirt—the part that hadn't yet been contaminated with his own blood—and wrapped it around himself to staunch the bleeding. _This place is getting to me. I need to get out of here—fast._

Making sure that it was as tight as it could be—some part of him hoped he'd find another strange room like the one he had just slept in, where maybe, to his luck, there'd not only be more food, but also a first-aid kit—the blonde pushed himself uncertainly to his feet. His right leg whined in acute protest, and upon checking the damage there, Edward was relieved to find it was only a graze. Not nearly as bad as his side.

_What kind of bullets are those, anyway? They clearly don't kill. They're not big enough. _

Turning around, Edward saw—disgustingly enough—red splattered onto the far wall. He could also make out, just barely among the blood, a small dent in the steel. The bullet had gone through, then; it wasn't lodged somewhere within him. Good.

"You're welcome for the additional decorations," Edward muttered to no one. He turned back on his heel towards his blue portal, pushing the cube through and watching with satisfaction (and a tinge of sweet, sweet revenge) as the turret fell and writhed.

"Thought the place could use a bit more color, anyway."

* * *

"So this is the place, then."

Mustang crossed his arms over his chest, examining the plain building before him across the street. To his side stood Breda and Havoc, with Alphonse and Hawkeye on his left—each of them gathered, ready and waiting for orders on how to approach the ambiguously-entitled _Aperture Laboratories._

"Yep," Havoc answered. As usual, he had his cigarette in his mouth that bobbed with his words, ash-dust crumbling to the earth below as he spoke. "There have been a case of missing people here, apparently. A lot of unemployed, homeless folk just gone—and there are rumors these guys are why. According to the others, Aperture Science has been looking to hire test subjects."

Alphonse jerked. This was the first time he had heard this information as well, and to hear it now, he couldn't help but feel suddenly soul-aching-coldness. "Test subjects? What for?"

(Test subjects just had a nasty connotation with it. And to somehow connect that with an image of his brother, locked up and experimented on against his will—it was far too painful and just…awful to think of.)

Havoc shrugged, mouth set in a frown. "Dunno. They wouldn't say."

Breda surveyed the white-washed building beyond the automatic gate. "It looks so harmless from the outside."

Mustang scoffed, shifting his hands to his waist. "Well, you know what they say. Don't judge a book by its cover."

Riza turned to her superior, sherry eyes regarding his stance and facial expression carefully and knowingly. "What do you suggest we do, sir?" she asked with a straight back, ready and waiting for orders.

"We try and go about this diplomatically. After all, it shouldn't be too unusual for the government to send military personnel to do an unplanned examination of the facility, right? Making sure it is all under working order as the military would approve of?" He turned and gave her the tiniest of smirks, a familiar, excited glint in his dark eyes that made Riza and the others smirk right back.

"Nope," returned Breda, eying the building like it was prey. "Not unusual at all."

* * *

Edward had to admit—knocking one turret down with another was actually, satisfyingly fun. Of course, he had to dance around a bit in order to avoid those nasty little bullets they fired, but. Whatever. At least they were getting what they deserved.

"Take _that_, you psychotic little bastards!" he cried with all-too-much-pride, pointing at their prone forms once they had shut down.

He didn't really know why he said that. It just fit the moment.

A moment that was ruined promptly as he heard another spray of bullets being fired, hitting the wall soundly behind him.

Edward quickly jolted away from the area, turning around to see the familiar beady-red searching light of another turret dance around as it hummed, "Target lost!" (The darn things sounded happy even saying _that_.)

Unfortunately, however, there were two doorways in the wall across from him. The turret he had seen was in the far left one; but then who could say there wasn't another one in the right one?

So which way was he supposed to go?

Picking the right one (because he didn't want to face another trigger-happy-little-monster-of-doom for certain at the moment), Edward carefully edged towards it, portal gun at the ready as he steadily, step-by-step, examined what he could see in the room beyond.

It was fairly small, with another hill of weighted storage cubes—_In other words, anti-turret-ammunition, _Edward thought with joy—a porcelain mug—he honestly couldn't think of why that would be there—and two windowed walls which showed the room that the left doorway lead to—where three other turrets were.

From his specific standing point upon entering the room, the machines' peripheral vision couldn't pick him up, so there weren't any bullets being fired into the glass. This gave Edward perfect time to plan out how he was going to take them down.

After all, it didn't seem too hard. Take down the turrets, put a storage cube on the button that he could see in the room beyond, and then go through the door it opened—which would, he figured, be the end of the chamber (and maybe, the end of this whole ordeal if he was lucky).

It wasn't the end.

As soon as he disposed of the other three turrets, placed the storage cube on the button and stood in front of the door as it opened, Edward found out the hard way that no, this wasn't the end of the chamber at all.

Facing the doorway, standing behind a tall black-chain wall—as if ready for him—stood yet another turret. And before he knew it—

"Deploying."

—_ping, ping—_and then there was white hot, searing _pain_ again_._

Edward immediately pulled back behind the side wall of the door, propelled by the momentum of the bullet and his own instincts to avoid danger and gasped as he leaned his back against the now-spotted metal, left hand clutching where the bullet had entered him. Nausea took over again, pulsing, throbbing—and dizzy, Edward jerkily slid to the floor, head tilted to the ceiling as he clenched his eyes and teeth shut. He forced himself to breathe as deeply and steadily as he could—in and out, in and out—harshly through his gritted teeth.

_I'm not gonna throw up. I'm not gonna throw up. Don't. Not now. Not when you're so close._

It took a long, long while for the wave to pass. When it finally did and all Edward could feel was a numbing pain still aching from the inflicted area, he then carefully pulled away his hand from his stomach.

His vision blurred slightly; it suddenly became hard to see straight, and the nausea thrummed stronger.

_Red. So red._

Something tickled in the back of his mind—a memory resurfacing—_there had been a time when I saw a lot of red like this once on my left hand, too—_and for a split moment, everything flickered. Where Edward saw the steel floor in front of him, instead he saw a steel armor, lifeless and empty—but about to be housed.

His ports tingled, numbing, echoing the memory, and Edward was helpless for a moment, the remembrance of those horrible events too real and too _vivid…_

…_he's my little brother! He's all I've got…_

No—no—Edward shook himself, trying to realign his senses with reality. _That isn't now. Come on. Snap out of it._

Closing his eyes hard, Edward allowed himself a moment of pause as he simply breathed and let the sickness ebb again. It was just his own blood. Not like when he was making Alphonse's seal. These were two completely-separate moments.

He was fine. Alphonse was fine.

Edward looked down towards his wound, and nodded distractedly, lightheadedly for himself.

…yeah. He was fine...

* * *

For the first time in her existence, GLaDOS was at a loss.

She hadn't been programmed to deal with military inspectors—only humans were truly meant to deal with equally petty human matters—yet here they were, knocking at her door and requesting entrance in order to perform a perfectly legal (impertinent) inspection. So then, what was she to do?

Well, as far as she saw it, there were two possible solutions.

* * *

The moment Mustang stepped in, he knew something was off.

It was cold. The air was thick, heavy, and tasted with faint remnants of something like isopropyl alcohol, but densely. Sourly. The hairs on his nape stood on end until, disconcerted, he lifted his sleeve and covered his nose and mouth, turning to Havoc. Havoc mimicked him, but the instant his eyes caught sight of something beyond his superior, the arm dropped in shock.

"Sir—"

The word was barely out of his mouth before something everywhere hissed, and the ceiling began to cloud.

_Danger._

"Havoc, to the door!" But that was useless—because Mustang knew the instant the door closed and clacked shut by itself, that someone else was in charge, and someone else didn't want them to leave.

"Damn it," he swore quietly, spinning around. Without regard to the fallen bodies strewed around—scientists? They wore lab coats, so that had to be the obvious answer—but then why were they dead? What's Edward gotten himself into _this _time?—Mustang burst forward, running down the first hallway he saw, eyes searching everywhere for a respite from the polluted air.

His free hand felt the walls, searching for a handle—something—anything to provide sanctuary. Automatic ally, he began to breathe shallowly—a technique the military taught him when under unknown gas filtering. It wouldn't last forever, but with his arm in front of his face, at least it would help a little. Give them time. The footsteps behind him told him Havoc was still following. Good—good. They couldn't fall yet—

"Psssssst! Quick! This way!"

Gut instinct told Mustang he was hearing things. That that whisper, that urging, coming from further down the hallway was just his imagination.

But when the voice spoke again, he dared look and hope.

There stood another scientist—at least, he looked exactly like one—with scraggly black hair and beard. But it was his blue eyes that were sharp, if only slightly clouded, but still very much alive and very much real, standing in an opening between panel and wall.

Mustang reached back for Havoc's arm, practically dragging him along with him as he ran towards where the man stood.

The instant they were behind the re-closed wall panel, the air was clear, and Roy was reminded his lungs had been trying to fight off an unknown poison for who-knew-how-long. Coughing and hacking jaggedly, he turned away and leaned against the railing of the catwalk they stood on, waiting until his lungs were clear at last. He could hear Havoc behind him—who was he again?—heaving and choking but going to be all right all the same—_right_?

His vision swam a moment as he peered down into the unknown mass of machines below him, and for a second—a split second—he had no idea of anything at all.

Then he gazed down at his white gloved hand and it snapped back. _Colonel Roy Mustang. Bastard. Friend. Fuhrer-to-be._

Right.

But his vision warped again when he tried to turn back around, and stumbling, he leaned his back against the railing, trying to regain his balance. Mustang pressed a hand to his forehead, fingertips begging memories and thoughts stay where they were instead of slipping through and escaping. It was hard enough trying to see straight.

"What—what _was _that?" Havoc muttered, although it sounded like a raw whisper. His throat must be sore.

Now that Mustang thought about it, his throat ached a little, too.

"Neurotoxin gas," responded their stranger-friend. "It should pass after a moment. Hopefully you guys didn't get too large of a dosage…"

Mustang straightened himself, and wouldn't dare admit that he wobbled slightly as he did so. "Is that what happened to the others, then? 'Too large of a dosage?'"

Their stranger-friend winced. That was the only answer Roy needed.

He inhaled the cleaner air, coughed, hiding his wince at how that tore at his already sore larynx and nodded. "I suppose we should thank you, then. But tell me this—what's going on here? Why are your co-workers dead, and how do we know we're safe?" _If that's even what we are right now?_

The scientist laughed—and Roy had the sudden inkling it had been a while since that haggard face was able to react in such a light-hearted, honest fashion. He wondered why. "You truly are military—all these questions, and you don't even ask for my name, first. You trust me only because I saved your lives, but who's to say I'll lead you right back to Her again so She can have Her way with you?"

Havoc coughed ever-timely, pulling himself up with a white-knuckled grip on the bars. "I hope you don't mean that as sexually as you made it sound."

Amusement twinkled in the depths of those ocean-blue eyes as their new companion shook his head. "No. But don't worry—you _are_ safe. She can't see into these areas behind the panels." And without another word, he stuck out his hand towards Mustang, open and inviting—welcome, despite for the threats he had posed to them two seconds earlier. "Doug. Doug Rattman. And you two are…?"

"Colonel Roy Mustang," he responded, shaking Rattman's hand in a firm grip. "And this is my subordinate, Second Lieutenant Jean Havoc."

But Rattman was hardly paying the fair-haired brunette any attention. Completely riveted by the exotic man before him, he gaped in confused recognition, eyes widening at the name. "Roy Mustang—Roy Mustang—I've heard your name before…"

Havoc snickered and coughed. "Figures. Everyone's heard of the Flame Alchemist somehow."

"No—no." Rattman shook his head, frowning in concentration. _C'mon, Doug. Think. Where have you heard Mustang before—?_

And then it hit him.

"That kid! The boy—he mentioned you at the very beginning of his testing!"

Both Havoc and Mustang jerked forward at the mention. All of a sudden, Rattman regretted having mentioned the blonde at all, because the next thing he knew, the man's grasp that he had continued to hold tightened with incredible strength—almost painfully on his poor fingers.

"Kid? What kid?" Mustang practically hissed. "And _what _do you mean by 'testing?'"

* * *

Edward supposed he was lucky. That bullet could have hit some incredible, major intestines—and caused severe internal bleeding—no matter _how _small and intricate it was.

The fact remained, though, that after sitting there, propped against the wall for who-knew-how-long, he was still breathing. And still breathing meant still alive, and still alive meant the chance to finally escape and get back to Alphonse.

So he stood up.

Stood up, knew what was coming, and only allowed himself the barest of moments to hold his breath, gather his resolve, before bounding forth, firing a portal as fast as he could behind the turret, and then leaping into a quick roll away to safety on the other side of the doorway.

He could hardly believe it when he didn't feel any other sharp pains from new bullets finding their mark, and instead, only ached from his three previous wounds.

"Good," he breathed, standing to let himself recover. That hadn't been easy, but the bright side was: at least it was done. Sharply nodding to himself and turning back to the wall he was nearest to, he swallowed and muttered once more, "Good."

Firing his other portal, he walked straight through to the other side. After jumping down and kicking the turret, he then stepped aside as the bullets went wild, before the thing succumbed to sleep.

Gone was the humor; not that Edward noticed. Gone was the "cute" factor—not if these things packed such a punch and could, potentially, kill him or anyone else who was unfortunate enough to be forced through these chambers. Not if…

…_anyone else._

Oh gosh.

Edward froze, the realization crashing into him—dumb and simple though it may have been.

Other people had been through this, too.

It was so easy to forget about that. Having been confined to solitude for who-knew-how-long—how many days had it been, now?—how could he tell?—it almost served the illusion that no one else existed. It was almost as if the world was on hold, paused—and it was, right? Some part of his subconscious was asking, _Everything's still waiting for me, yes?_

But he knew—he _knew_—that wasn't the reality.

There had been people tested before him. People who have died, no doubt. Either from the poison-covered floors before, or falling and unable to land safely. Or those energy pellets. Or…or…or the turrets…

_This has to stop. I can't—I can't let this happen anymore—_

And for the first time, as Edward turned to the next patch of black-gate, portalled across and knocked out his final turret, he felt the solid notion that he couldn't just leave. Sure, escaping was mandatory—there was no way he wasn't doing that—but first, he had to shut down Aperture Laboratories. First, he had to make sure they were destroyed—crippled—never again able to "test" innocent people for some new piece of technology, no matter how cool it was.

No human's life was worth that.

She spoke again as soon as he neared the elevator.

"Well done, android. The Enrichment Center once again reminds you that Android Hell is a real place where you will be sent at the first sign of defiance."

Android. Android Hell.

Under any other circumstance, it might have been funny.

It was if they were so insignificant that she couldn't be bothered to remember that he was a _person_ and not a _robot_—half-automail or not—her most precious "test subject," right?—and that he was entitled, thank you very much, to his own opinions and beliefs that he could stand up for and fight for and shed blood for—because he _was human_ and he would believe in that even if they didn't care about him, even if no one came to his rescue and even if he was left alone to fend for himself, no longer the great Fullmetal Alchemist, genius prodigy, but just Edward Elric, test subject number whatever, left alone but _still a person_—

Edward found his fist flying towards the steel side of the lift, satisfied with the heavy, echoing _CLANG_ resounding from the contact. His voice was the only thing carrying above the vibrations.

"_We're worth more than that!"_

And he didn't care that she didn't respond. Didn't care that his own ears and fist and throat hurt from the sheer amount of genuine, intense _belief_ in those words. His whole body was thrumming, brimming with this confidence that _he still mattered._

…even if he was alone…

* * *

Winry Rockbell couldn't remember being so unnerved in her life—or, so hungry.

It had been a few days since she last properly ate under the scientists' care. But now, no one was with her; no one could care for her. And normally, that'd be fine. Normally, Winry would find a way to take care of herself.

Except—there absolutely _was_ no way to do so here.

Not unless she strapped herself up into one of the few empty sustainment pods that lined the gigantic wall in front of her.

Because the people in there looked alive—just sleeping. So peaceful, so healthy—and that was what was truly unnerving. Winry kept staring at them, waiting for one to suddenly snap open its eyes and scream at her so violently to let it out—because she couldn't picture anyone actually _wanting _to be in the creepy device—but they didn't. They just remained, contained, maintained. So utterly still that it sent goosebumps up her spine.

She knew Rattman had saved her life by putting her in here, but she didn't think he knew what the containment chambers were really like. Else, he might have thought it through a bit more, considering the effects of her not being able to sleep at all because of the closed faces in front of her.

Plus, there was the whole issue of getting out, being saved…after all, who knew when it was safe to emerge? When GLaDOS had finished poisoning everyone and wouldn't use the gas again?

Who knew when she could act?

Who knew if Ed was safe?

Who knew if anyone was coming for her—or him?

Who knew if anyone knew if she was still alive?

Pressing herself against the wall behind her, she tucked her face in her knees, wrapping her arms around her bent-up legs and cradling herself. She wouldn't cry—Winry Rockbell was not _that_ weak—but she could…feel lonely, perhaps. Dispirited.

…scared.

Had she bothered to look up, Winry might have seen the two glowing lights watching her from a shadowed corner farther down the room—one comforting blue, and the other a bright, curious orange.

* * *

**Test Subject: **Edward Elric  
**Day: **4  
**Time: **4:50 p.m.  
**Location: **Elevator 16  
**Testing Progress: **Entering Test Chamber 17. Must Prepare Weighted Companion Cube.  
_ -Aperture Laboratories_

* * *

**Crystal's Notes: **This took much longer than I thought. BUT OMGSH. I HAVE ALMOST 20 REVIEWS. LIKE.

I can't.

I just.

I love you all. ;A; In one chapter, so many saints have appeared to almost—_almost_—double my old amount of reviews. Do you know how happy that makes me? That makes me INCREDIBLY happy! And you all have been so kind—INCREDIBLY KIND—I just—I have no words!

So now, I shall scream my appreciation (just for you, Guest 8D).

…although you can't hear me, I'm really doing it.

I hope you enjoyed! Happy New Years, and please have a WONDERFUL day!


	7. Chapter 7

**Test Subject: **Edward Elric  
**Day: **4  
**Time: **4:32 p.m.  
**Location: **Test Chamber 17  
**Testing Progress: **Waiting for Weighted Companion Cube.  
_ -Aperture Laboratories_

* * *

Rattman's stuttering explanation did little to soothe the anger coursing through Mustang's veins. And although he didn't understand it—_why _these scientists were even testing a _gun_, and much less, why they ever figured that Fullmetal, who despised guns, would be a good test subject for it—he did comprehend the most basic issue at hand:

His subordinate was in danger.

Simple protocol, then, left very little else to do but to get the boy _out _of said danger.

But naturally, Rattman said it was trickier than that. (Of course. Nothing could be easy in this world.)

This GLaDOS machine. _She _was the one in charge, the one who had poisoned the other scientists with this neurotoxin poison. _She _was the real danger here, forcing her prized test subject through the chambers in order to gather data.

So Mustang wanted to bring her down. Simple enough.

It frustrated him, however, when due to the after-effects of being (however slightly) poisoned by the neurotoxin, right after he turned his buttonless handheld radio to the outside on (a new version—one that would allow both sides to talk at the same time without having to press down a button for communication), his hand played up and shook, making him loose grip on his radio—the only contact he had with Alphonse, Hawkeye, and Breda—and thereby unintentionally clumsily drop it off the walkway.

With a hissed swear, the lieutenant colonel threw half his body over the railing, trying to locate where it had fallen to, just in time to see the black thing, now crackling with concerned questions from a Hawkeye who had heard his curse, be covered up by a grey cover.

A box.

Crud, it had fallen into an assembly-line for grey boxes with stupid pink hearts on the side.

Turning to Havoc, who had joined his side to find where their radio had fallen, Mustang immediately began to shout out orders. "Down—we need to get down and stop that line—"

"—no! You can't! That's a companion cube!" Rattman desperately blocked their way, a weird, sentimental look in his blue eyes that somehow left the lieutenant colonel with a shorter temper than before. "Just let it be—your boy—Edward—he needs that!"

"Why the _heck_ does he need a pink-hearted box?" Mustang retorted, still trying to get around. He didn't want to hurt this man who had been helping them, but _dammit_, he needed that radio.

Rattman swallowed, and suddenly looked very sad. "…I'll show you. But I can assure you, and I need you to trust me, that once the test is over, you can have your radio back safe and sound with no harm done to it. Edward just needs it for this chamber, that is all. It will be yours afterwards—you are, after all, the Flame Alchemist, right?"

Something in the scientist's voice made the lieutenant colonel finally cease his movements and eye him carefully. "Yes…"

Havoc, ever faithful, picked up the question for him. "…but what does that have to do with anything?"

Rattman's sigh was that of someone who knew he had done something very, very wrong. "…you'll see," he muttered, as if it was a condolence. "You'll see."

* * *

"The Vital Apparatus Vent will deliver a Weighted Companion Cube in three, two, one."

_Blip._

Edward watched as the box fell to the floor from the container. And quite frankly, he didn't want to touch it. For one, it had a big heart on the side—actually, on _each_ side—as if it was supposed to somehow mark the thing as different than the other weighted storage cubes. Secondly…it had pink on it. On the stupid box.

_But that's just what it is,_ Edward thought, sighing. _Just another box to help me get by. So just treat it as that, Ed. Nothing more. No need to think too hard about it._

So without thinking, he resignedly walked forward, and began heaving it towards the doorway.

"This Weighted Companion Cube will accompany you through the test chamber. Please take care of it."

Oh, so that's what they were calling it, now? A weighted companion cube? Not a weighted storage cube? Edward rolled his eyes and continued pushing. "You know, you need to be more creative in your naming process. It wouldn't kill to name something 'Steve,' every once in a while or something," he couldn't help but mutter, however resentfully.

It was when the box then talked back that he felt so very shaken to the core.

"…Brother…?"

Edward jerked away, every muscle spasming as if he had been burned.

Al. That—that had been Al.

He stared at it with wide eyes, nearly shaking from disbelief.

_H-hadn't it?_

"…Al…?" he murmured, tip-toing closer. His trembling intensified with each step closer to the box that he got. Anticipation made it hard to breathe.

"_Brother_! Brother—is that really you? Did the lieutenant colonel find you? Oh, Brother!"

_Oh gosh._

Edward couldn't stand anymore.

His legs felt like jelly, and without command, his entire body sagged until he knelt at the box's side, heart beating too loud, too fast—but he didn't care. Yet he did, because that made it hard to hear his brother—_oh gosh Al what is he doing here? How is he in this box? What's going on?_

He felt at once dizzy with joy and sick with grief.

It was very similar to being nauseated from continuous momentum leaps.

He might just throw up. Or pass out. One of the two.

(If he didn't hyperventilate first.)

"Brother? Brother, are you okay? What's wrong?"

What's wrong? Edward felt a weak chuckle break free of him. _What's wrong is that you're speaking to me when you shouldn't even be here—is this reality? Am I dreaming? Or is my little brother really in this hellhole—_

"The symptoms most commonly produced by Enrichment Center testing are superstition, perceiving inanimate objects as alive, and hallucinations. The Enrichment Center reminds you that the weighted companion cube will never threaten to stab you and, in fact, cannot speak."

…oh.

Blackness swallowed his gut, and Edward closed his eyes, pressing his forehead to the cube's side as he felt tightness in his throat and a pressure behind his eyes that he _hated hated hated._

Right. Of course.

"…of course you're not real…" Edward whispered after a shaky breath that had been taken in the hopes of somehow calming his rattled nerves, but didn't.

Was he relieved? Pained? Disappointed?

...everything.

"Brother, who was that? What's she talking about?"

Oh, Alphonse. As innocent, naïve, and gentle as he remembered. _But of course, _Edward couldn't help but chide, _of course he's just like what you remember—he _is _your imagination after all._

So with a self-depreciating laugh, Edward pushed himself to his feet. "No one, Al," he responded, quickly wiping away a stray tear. His voice held far more fondness than it probably should have for a hallucination—but for all intents and purposes, he didn't really care. If he was finally going crazy, he figured, he might as well humor his insanity. "Forget her. Looks like we've got some work to do."

Alphonse was confused. "…we do?"

"Yep." Edward chuckled as he patted the cube's side—_you're losing it, you're losing it, _his mind whispered. _That's not your brother_—but he couldn't stop treating it as if it were. "But don't worry. Now that you're with me, it'll be a lot easier."

Alphonse was unexpectedly quite for a moment, before he asked, "Brother, is the lieutenant colonel with you?"

Edward painfully swallowed. Why was his subconscious asking these questions? Why bring out the hurt?

But he shook his head anyway. "No, Al," he answered softly, fingering the edge of the cube. He sighed heavily, tiredly—sadly. "No one's been with me for a...really long time."

* * *

Winry couldn't stop laughing.

Okay, sure; at first, she had been scared. Frightened, startled out of her wits by the stumbling appearance of these two bumbling robots—_Atlas_ and _Pea-Body_, she saw engraved on the sides of their bodies—when they, quite literally, tripped into her life and this room.

But now, she was entirely enchanted by them. They were funny, yes—but ultimately, harmless.

It helped, of course, that they made keening noises at her every time she began to look sad—almost as if they wanted her to do anything but that.

(So, there really was no other option for her to do but enjoy their company.)

All the same, however, when they nudged her over to one particular stasis pod which housed another young woman—she with pitch-dark hair pulled up in a ponytail behind her, looking faintly Xingese in features—and made more, sad, keening noises, Winry suddenly understood that she must have been a friend of theirs.

But with a soft, sad smile, she turned to them apologetically. "I'm sorry, guys…I'd help get her out, but I don't know how."

That was okay, though, it seemed, for in the next moment, they gestured wildly with their gangly, whirring arms, for her to direct her attention at the small console to the right of the pod. On it, Winry could see a thumb-print scan—clearly, only for human-use.

Two obvious implications leapt to her mind.

_One, only humans can open this pod._

_Two, that means humans _put_ her here._

However inhuman they must have been.

All the same, Winry turned to her two new companions with regret clouding her features again. "Sorry; my thumbprint's probably not in the system. It won't even recognize it; so, no good."

Yet still they chattered and gestured towards her and the print-scanner, enough that Winry finally sighed and shrugged. _What the hey, might as well give it a try, _she thought. _What harm will it do? Besides, this way they'll see for themselves that I was right._

Except, she had been wrong.

(Apparently, all it needed was a human's fingerprint—any human's.)

* * *

"The Enrichment Center reminds you that the Weighted Companion Cube cannot speak. In the event that the Weighted Companion Cube does speak, the Enrichment Center urges you to disregard its advice."

Quite frankly, the companion cube was saying all sorts of things that were hard to 'disregard.'

"Brother, you need to listen to me! We're going to get you out of there! Hawkeye's right here with me, and we're—"

"—yeah, sure, Al." Edward swallowed painfully. The second laser-pellet had reached its mark, and now, done with that task, he walked around the hearted cube and began pushing it out of the rubber-enclosed side room they'd entered. "That…that sounds great. I'm sure you're doing all you can…" Was he? Was he really?

And did Edward really _want_ to be rescued? Or did he want his little brother to continue trying to find the philosopher's stone on his own in his absence?

"We _are_." Damn his imagination. The hurt in his little brother's voice was soul-wrenchingly acute, and Edward visibly winced as they breeched into the larger, main chamber. "You've got to believe me, Brother. I'm right here."

Edward shook his head, mussed-braid jerking with the movement, and opened his mouth to respond—but found his voice suddenly go slack when his eye caught sight of another hand print.

Right outside another popped-open panel.

"…Brother?"

"Hang on a sec, Al," Edward quickly dismissed before he thought about it, inching closer to peer into the room.

Was it okay to be gleeful that there were a bunch of other broken security cameras littering that rusty-brown floor? He vaguely wondered, and peered at what else he could see of the walls. There was more writing, more pictures taped up—but perhaps some food, as well, even though he couldn't see it. Hopefully, some cans were left behind just like what the last person did who had traveled through in the other chamber.

Edward suppressed a grin and fired into the room, quickly placing the other portal right beside him for easy entrance. "C'mon, Al," he then muttered distractedly, reaching back for the cube as he lugged them though and into the room beyond. "I think I found something."

That seemed to perk his fake-Alphonse's attention. "You did? What did you find?"

"A room. Dunno what for. It's kinda like another one I saw before." As he spoke, Edward turned in a full circle, examining the small space. He noticed, again, like before—much to his dismay—that there was no door to the outside from here. It was small, enclosed—and probably, never truly meant to be found.

The only good thing was that beside the four camera-carcasses, there were indeed some more cans of beans.

"Yes!" Edward cheered, diving down for the five cans—only to realize that out of the five, only two were yet unopened and full. Still, no matter. Not any more disheartened, Edward tossed the useless empty cans behind him and grabbed the full one, placing it before him and scrambling for another piece of chalk nearby—because there was more writing on the walls; that meant there _had_ to be _some _kind of writing utensil around—to complete his self-invented alchemy circle.

Alphonse, the temporary companion cube behind him, must have been blind, for at his older brother's sudden activity, he piped up curiously and worriedly, "Yes? What did you find, Brother? Is everything okay?"

"More so than you know, Al," Edward laughed, almost high off of the buzz of alchemy flooding through his system again. "I've got food!"

"Oh. Good…" Alphonse was startlingly quite after that—as if something had shocked him—which, really, was strange, because Edward has known all this time that he's been starving for who-knows-how-long, so how could he even surprise his subconscious?—until he finally muttered, "…they're not feeding you?"

Edward, mouth full of delicious, stale, unsalted beans shook his head. "Nope. Load of jerks they are."

"…Brother…"

"Al." Edward stopped him before he could go on, _knowing _that tone of voice. Frowning, he stuck his roughly-hewn spoon into the still two-thirds full can of beans, stomach already temporarily full; he'd dive in again later, he knew. Not to worry. No food would go to waste—not if he could help it. "Don't. You're just my hallucination. Honestly, my own subconscious mothering me isn't going to do me any good."

"But—Brother—I'm _not _your hallucination—!"

"—_yes you are._" Edward suddenly decided he couldn't eat anymore even if he was hungry. His stomach was churning something nasty—guilt?—as he once more attempted to fight the hallucination's cries of validity. "Look—_look_, whoever was here before even wrote on the wall about you, about this companion cube..." His voice trailed off as he more seriously regarded the words printed on the wall. "Do you know what you _do _to people?"

"Companion cube—?"

Edward began to read out loud.

"'…and perceiving inanimate objects as alive, and hallucinations—I'm not hallucinating—you are.'" Something in his voice unexpectedly cracked, but he kept going. (Because he really was hallucinating, wasn't he?) "'The companion cube would never desert me. Desert. So long…'"

"…Brother…what are you even reading...?"

"'…cake. Haha. A lie_. _The companion cube would never lie to me. NEVER_._'" And Edward, laughingly—_when did I stand up?_—talked louder, over his imagination's halting pleas for him to stop. "Isn't that funny, Al? 'The companion cube would never lie to me'—well, guess what? Good thing I'm not that _stupid_."

"Brother, stop_—_"

Something in Edward snapped and he spun, turning to the next wall, rapidly firing off the words he could read there. Words that thrummed beneath his skin—as if he could feel them—as if he could not only sympathize, but _empathize. _As if he knew every single emotion written in shaky black chalk, left for no one to read because no one cared anymore. _Alone. I'm alone—Al's not here—no one's here but me—and it's been that way—how long? Or has it always been this way?—_

"'You said to take care of it.'" Al. Al. He promised he'd take care of Al. Oh, he _promised…_ "'You wouldn't lie to me. I should disregard your advice—_leave me alone_!'"

"Brother, please—!"

"'Though earth and man are gone, I thought the cube would last forever. I WAS WRONG.' And I'm _still _wrong, aren't I, Al? I've always been wrong!"

"_No_—!"

Spin. Read. Spit out. Syllables. Vowels. Language. Tongue slapping against teeth in utter staccato so hard that it almost hurt. "'Because I did not stop for Death, he kindly stopped for me. The Cube had food and maybe ammo, fine immortality—Why—why—why—why—why—why—why—why—why—why—why—why—why—why—why—why—why—why—_why_—_why_—_WHY_?'"

Sharp silence.

This time, the unreal Alphonse did not speak, did not try to interrupt, as Edward turned and read the final lines.

"'_Not _in cruelty, _not _in wrath, the reaper came today; an angel visited this grey path—'"

"—Brother, that's enough."

It was a whisper, but definitely all Edward needed to realize that there were soft, warm tears flooding down his cheeks.

An embarrassed sob broke free, and not even desiring that his hallucination see him, he bent over and huddled into the corner, pressing his face into his knees. His one human arm tightly wrapped his legs to his chest, while his other—the portal gun…

…well, as awkward and as inhuman as it made him, it lied gangly and heavy at his side.

_I want to go home._

* * *

Caught up in his flurry, Edward failed to realize that right as he finished eating his meager dinner, one of the thought-dead camera shells' red eye flickered on.

Quietly, the lens had whirred and focused enough to see him clearly—and just in time for the three men behind it, also lost behind the walls of Aperture Laboratories—to witness the boy's own traumatic mental and emotional breakdown.

* * *

Mustang's hands were shaking where he gripped Rattman's chair.

When Rattman said he had tracked the companion cube, and could even connect with a wireless security camera to get footage on where their missing radio laid, the lieutenant colonel hadn't even imagined he'd see this.

The kid looked like death.

Stringy, unwashed dull gold hair—falling out of its usual braid—paled Edward's complexion even further, to a grey-ish white rather than starchy paper-pale. He had bruises—multiple ones—including a huge, purpling one (that was by far the worst) on his left shoulder that spanned from the top of it all the way down to his elbow—that was almost as if he had been slammed into a wall while going sixty-miles per hour.

But that wasn't the worst of it.

He looked sickly, sure. Emaciated and horrible.

But what shocked Mustang and might have actually caused him physical pain in his chest cavity were the thick red suns drenching the clearly last-minute dressings on his side, his stomach, and his thigh.

_Bullets._

That image, combined with the crazed look in Edward's eye and voice as he had repeated words left before him by some other unfortunate test subject—Rattman had gone strangely still at their reading, but hadn't said a word, lips pressed together like a silent vow—made Mustang see red and soul-spearing aches and tremors at the same time.

But now, obviously scared, obviously broken, obviously alone, Edward sat huddled in a corner, shoulders shaking with clear physical and emotional pain, and they could do nothing but stand there, shocked to fragile silence.

Mustang didn't know what to say. So Havoc said it for him.

"We need to get him out of there."

The lieutenant colonel tightly nodded.

* * *

There came a soft hiss, and fog from within the pod slithered out.

Scared, startled, Winry backed up and tried to wave the mystery gas—that oddly, smelled pleasantly clean like lemons and sanitizer—away with her hand. The robots, chirping oddly, stepped away with her as they awaited movement from within.

And then Chell opened her eyes.

* * *

**Test Subject: **Edward Elric  
**Day: **4  
**Time:** 6:58 p.m.  
**Location: **Test Chamber 17 (?)  
**Testing Progress: **Has Disappeared from the Chamber.  
_ -Aperture Laboratories_

* * *

**Crystal's Notes: **Due to popular vote, Chell has appeared, ladies and gentlemen. x3 Enjoy.

This chapter has taken a completely different turn than I originally thought it would when I started it. However, I do like the change; although it does, subsequently, adjust what will follow, it doesn't in a bad way. At least, I hope it doesn't.

I just gotta figure out what I want to do with Chell now. ;A;

I hope you enjoyed! Thanks for reading! AND YOU GUYS ARE AWESOME! I almost have 30 reviews! Like, what? Like, I can't believe this! You guys have been incredible! I love, love, love you all! Keep being awesome! ;A;


	8. Chapter 8

**Test Subject: **Edward Elric  
**Day: **4  
**Time:** 6:59 p.m.  
**Location: **Test Chamber 17 (?)  
**Testing Progress: **Has Disappeared from the Chamber.  
_ -Aperture Laboratories_

* * *

"Who…_are_ you?"

The black-haired girl didn't respond. Not at first. She blinked hard upon stumbling out of her pod, and looked as if she were about to collapse—and Winry was sure she would have if Atlas and Pea-Body hadn't leapt forward and caught her first.

Winry, a doctor at heart, leapt forward as well, although quite unsure where she could exactly be of help. "Are you all right? What's wrong?"

Finally coming back to herself, however, the black-haired girl 's attention suddenly snapped towards Winry for the first time, and she subsequently appeared surprised. She opened her mouth to speak, before a shuttered expression crossed over her face, and she decided against it, reaching out, instead, for Winry's hand.

Winry, nervous, but somehow trusting of this girl—because how could this young woman be anything else but a victim, after having been sealed in that pod?—gave her hand to her new companion.

The girl, to her surprise, began to trace letters on her palm with a ticklingly light touch.

_W-h-o-a-r-e-y-o-u-?_

Winry could have laughed—because that childish, reckless part of her that had grown up with the Elric brothers instantly would have responded, "Hey! I asked _you_ first!" but in this situation, that hardly seemed appropriate. Instead, she bit it back and smiled, answering, "Winry. Winry Rockbell. I'm an automail mechanic from Rizenbul. And you are…?"

The stranger's dark eyes narrowed in confusion and suspicion. Instead of answering right away, she wrote, _Y-o-u-a-r-e-n-o-t-a-t-e-s-t-s-u-b-j-e-c-t?_

Winry's eyes softened. "No," she murmured softly, sadly. "But my very good friend is."

Realization dawned behind the black-brown eyes staring at her. _A-r-e-y-o-u-l-o-o-k-i-n-g-f-o-r-h-e-r?_

She should be, shouldn't she? Winry swallowed painfully at her own guilt, reminding herself that while she was locked in here, she had no idea when it was safe to come out to even begin finding Ed in the first place. So she shook her head, blonde hair paled to platinum by the harsh lighting swinging. "Him," she corrected first. "And no…although I should be. Truth is, I don't know if it's safe to leave this room yet. So…until I do, I'm…stuck here."

The stranger's eyes softened, although confusion lied behind their depths. _W-h-a-t-d-o-y-o-u-m-e-a-n-s-a-f-e-?_

Winry cracked a smile, but couldn't help herself by responding, "Okay, I'll answer that—but first, hold up now. You've asked enough questions. Surely at least _I _can ask _you _something before you continue this interrogation by this point?"

The black-haired girl rolled her eyes good naturedly, but nodded, conceding.

So Winry smirked, triumphant, before sobering as she asked, "Why don't you talk? Y'know, with your voice?"

That same shuttered, shadowed look darkened the young woman's face as before, but this time, she bowed her head slightly—and Winry felt through their joined hands the tremor that suddenly shivered through her—miniscule, yet still there, like an electric current. It took a moment, and the automail mechanic would have taken back her question, had the stranger not then responded, _I-h-a-v-e-r-e-c-i-e-v-e-d-b-r-a-i-n-t-r-a-u-m-a-t-h-a-t-h-a-s-i-n-h-i-b-i-t-e-d-m-y-a-b-i-l-i-t-y-t-o-s-p-e-a-k. S-o-r-r-y._

From the experiments? Winry couldn't believe the overwhelming sorrow that washed over her at the trembling finger's letters. She swallowed hard, grasping the black-haired girl's hands for encouragement and murmured gently, "You have nothing to be sorry for. It's not your fault that you can't talk or make a sound. It's _theirs._"

A soft, thankful smile crossed the stranger's face, and she wrote, _S-o-m-e-t-i-m-e-s-I-c-a-n-g-r-o-a-n-o-r-s-c-r-e-a-m. I-t-i-s-n-o-t-v-e-r-y-c-o-o-r-d-i-n-a-t-e-d-o-r-p-r-e-t-t-y-b-e-c-a-u-s-e-i-t-i-s-i-n-v-o-l-u-n-t-a-r-y-b-u-t-i-t-h-a-p-p-e-n-s-a-n-y-w-a-y._

Winry shrugged, smiling. "Doesn't have to be pretty. At least it's your voice. What did you say your name was?"

The girl smiled back amicably, clearly warmed to Winry, and answered, _C-h-e-l-l. _

Winry's grin spread as Atlas and Pea-Body clicked and cooed with happiness at their sides. "Well, it is very nice to meet you, Chell. I believe we'll make great friends."

Chell's eyes suddenly clouded over and appeared very wet, and her mouth grew tight, but she nodded, and gripped Winry's hands strongly in thanks.

The Rockbell daughter understood the sentiment completely.

It was too bad the moment was broken by the sudden creaking of the chamber door to their left. The sound was so sudden, it shocked Atlas and Pea-Body into fleeing the scene with terrified shrieks and whirrs, while leaving Winry and Chell to jerk back, watching with wide eyes as someone incredibly familiar shoved it open and stumbled inside with bright hope on their face—only to look disappointed by what actually lay inside.

"Dang it. Wrong room, guys," said Second Lieutenant Jean Havoc as he sighed, placing his hands on his hips.

"Are you sure? I could have sworn this was it, but my memory's been shot since the gas, so…" said a voice from behind him, not yet seen as a second, black-haired member of their party entered and took one glance at the room before them, before freezing in surprise at the two girls staring at them with equal shock.

Mustang couldn't help but smirk smugly, crossing his arms over his chest. "Well, well, one down, one to go. How good to see you, Miss Rockbell."

Winry frowned, her face heating up as she opened her mouth to screech, "What _took _you so long, you jerk?! Do you know how long I've been waiting?! I'm _hungry_, dammit! Kidnapping is _so _not what I signed up for when I allowed Ed to join the military!"

This only served to amuse the Flame Alchemist even more, but just as he was about to respond, the third member of their group entered, asking curiously, "Oh! Did we find—" but all voice and color left Doug Rattman's face as he beheld the other, darker-haired young woman halfway across the room, who stared at him back in glassy terror.

"Chell…" Rattman breathed, while his mind scrambled for words but eventually found, _Oh crap…_

And then the girl screamed.

* * *

It had gone against every desire of her heart when Hawkeye had told Breda and Alphonse not to go charging inside the Aperture Science building as soon as they heard Mustang swear and a long silence envelope their side of the walkie-talkie.

But, instead of letting them dash inside and tear the place apart looking for their comrades like all three of them desperately wanted to, she held them back on thin reins, waiting and waiting because her superior's orders had been very clear:

_No matter what you hear, do not take action until I say the code-phrase, or until you do not hear from me and the clock has struck midnight. Understand?_

Oh, Hawkeye understood. Didn't necessarily mean she had to like it. But she obeyed anyway, as was her duty.

Now, however, they somehow were talking to Edward instead of Mustang, who clearly wasn't with the boy, else he wouldn't still be suffering this mental strife, and Alphonse, as he responded to his brother, sounded like every single word he spoke and that which was spoken to him physically—although, she knew it technically wasn't possible—pained him. (Although, she also knew the soul-searing pain he was feeling from his brother's suffering was also hurting him in other ways—perhaps much more important ones.)

Still.

None of them could breathe when GLaDOS' final command came over the walkie-talkie, overheard by the three gathered around the device.

And Alphonse, if he could cry, would have.

* * *

"You did it! The weighted companion cube certainly brought you good luck."

_It did, really,_ Edward sighed, nodding, patting the Alphonse-cube beside him subconsciously. He would almost be sad to leave it behind on that button there in order to continue…although as he looked around, he began to be puzzled because the door that the button opened didn't lead to an elevator, actually—so maybe he wasn't done?—but instead, to a pedestal with another, smaller red-button upon it.

There was also an ominous, huge, closed tilted pipe into the floor outside of that room, in the small area that had another door across from it. It had 'CAUTION' in huge, grey letters, printed on its rim. Edward didn't think too much about it.

(Not yet.)

"However, it cannot accompany you for the rest of the test and must, unfortunately, be euthanized."

…wait.

"Please escort your companion cube to the Aperture Science Emergency Intelligence Incinerator."

…

He couldn't…he couldn't register anything. Numbing, dumb silence stretched, and all Edward could feel was a vague lack of comprehension. Those words simply didn't make sense, couldn't be understood. At all.

What was She asking him to do? Was that Amestrian? _Huh. Must not have been—_

"Rest assured that an independent panel of ethicists has absolved the Enrichment Center, Aperture Science employees, and all test subjects for all moral responsibility for the companion cube euthanizing process."

Something buzzed in Edward's stomach and ears as he heard those words, ringing high and long, and faintly, he _knew _he knew what she was talking about, but there remained that empty whiteness in the forefront of his cranium that blocked out all possible responses and courses of action he could take. It was almost like an impossible abyss had opened up in his capacity for reasoning, taking out his admired genius and leaving behind, instead, a skeleton of a person who heard but did not intake. Or simply did not want to.

Euthanizing…he—no—he knew what that…_meant_.

No…the problem was thinking of that hideous word in the same sentence with and referring to _Alphonse._

The world lurched. Edward couldn't stand.

"Brother…?"

"While it has been a faithful companion, your companion cube cannot accompany you through the rest of the test."

It can't? Why not? Why—why_ not_?

"If it could talk—and the Enrichment Center takes this opportunity to remind you that it cannot—it would tell you to go on without it because it would rather die in a fire than become a burden to you."

Pain surged up Edward's throat, pressure weighing down his collarbone and choking, suffocating him.

_Would he…would he really…?_

Edward's hands—flesh and automail—oh—no—wait—it was still a gun—_gross, awful, unorthodox_—both clawed at the side of the hearted box, trying to speak, trying to think clearly, but all he could think of was the reality that _They want me to kill my little brother._

And the possibility that Alphonse would actually _want to_ _die_.

_But you can't leave me—_

"Brother—"

No. Wait.

It was just a box.

It wasn't Alphonse.

It was just…just his imagination…right…?

_When did I forget that?_

"Testing cannot continue until your companion cube has been incinerated."

…right.

Edward swallowed roughly, and shut down…everything.

He pushed himself to stand, nodding, focusing even as he felt sweat dotting his forehead and every muscle wanting to pull him back, trembling with the effort it took just to...but…_no_—he could do this. It was just a box.

He shoved himself forward, forcing every step after another. On. And on. Inch. Another inch. Rubber tile after rubber tile passed slowly by his braced feet, and even as he moved, he slowed as if gravity was restricting him. "It's just a box…right…" A harsh, quiet laugh, cursing his own stupidity. When did he become so…unstable? He was shaking too hard to tell. "…it's—it's just a _box, _damn it…"

He blatantly ignored the way his voice cracked to a whisper at the end, making his curse far weaker than he wanted it to be.

"Brother…"

_Oh gosh. _"Shut up—shut _up._" He couldn't do it—no, but he _had _to; he'd be stuck here forever unless—no, but he couldn't; not when it was still talking to him with Al's voice—

_No. Yes. No. Yes. _

Edward found his feet frozen, halfway between the button and halfway between Alph—_the box_—and consequentially, standing in front of the giant incinerator that remained closed and falsely harmless beside him.

He stared at it with wide, uncomprehending eyes.

…h-he was supposed to do something…right…?

…_Al…you can't possibly want…_this_…_

"Although the euthanizing process is remarkably painful, 8 out of 10 Aperture Science engineers believe that the companion cube is most likely incapable of feeling much pain."

The tightness in Edward's throat blossomed, filling every possible corner with steel rods.

_That's right—oh, that's right he _can't _feel any pain because I made him that way—because I stuck his soul inside that piece of armor—because I wanted Mom back—and that wasn't right—I was selfish—I've always been selfish—and now—and now—_

…now…what if Alphonse really _did _want this…? And…and he was being selfish (_again_), by refusing him this…this…

"Brother…it's okay."

Oh.

Edward cleared his throat, the rocks inside rolling around and scraping up and down his trachea.

R-right…

It was a long moment before the elder Elric could find it in himself to respond.

"I don't know…" he finally murmured—but failed; rather, it came out as a hoarse whisper, so honest and rugged with these coursing emotions that he thought he had cut off two years ago. "...I don't know what to do…I…can't…" It was growing increasingly harder and harder to breathe, the pressure in his chest steadily and gradually rising, and Edward just _didn't know._

"The companion cube cannot continue through the testing. State and local statutory regulations prohibit it from simply remaining here, alone and companionless. You must euthanize it."

Of—of course.

_Alphonse wouldn't like to be alone._

…but was this really better…?

Something cold fell from Edward's eye as he turned and forced himself to continue his journey to the button. He didn't take the time to discover what it was; just knew that he disliked it and it was suddenly very hard to see.

He lost track of when he got there, when he pressed the button, and when he returned to the box's side and began pushing it towards the incinerator that released wavy heat and burned deep in its depths with scorching fire, bubbling and ready to kill—eat—devour—Alphonse—and—oh—no—he—he couldn't—he—

Edward stumbled away, trembling hard.

The cold things fell very hard now, and Edward's forehead began to hurt with the strain upon it from this contortion his face was morphing into. He made an ugly picture—hideous—but it didn't matter, because he was even uglier on the inside for even _considering _to throw Alphonse _in _that—

"Destroy your companion cube or the testing cannot continue."

"_No!_" he shouted, the sound loud and echoing off black rubber, scratching up out of his chest with clawing desperation. "I-I _can't_! I _won't_!"

"But Brother—"

"—no—Al—_please_—you _can't want this_—you _can't make me kill you_—"

—box—box—it's just a box—not Al—not Al—

But it was. Oh, it w_as_. Because it was Al's _voice. _And _personality. _And—everything—

"—Brother," the thing murmured, very softly, very gently, although it, too, sounded strained. "Y-you have to—"

"—_no_!" _Don'tsaythatdon'tsaythatdon'tsaythatIdon'thavetokillyouIneedyou__**INEEDYOU.**_

"Place your companion cube in the incinerator."

"_No_!"

"Brother—"

"—_damn it, _Al!" Edward panted harshly, lungs heaving with each breath, shoulders rising and falling as he roared, "I've already killed Mom—_I'm not going to kill you, too!_"

Silence.

Sheer, utter silence.

"Brother…"

"I'm not." Edward shook his head, warning—or more like daring, the box—or anyone—anything—to challenge him. "No. Don't even—I'm not." He cleared his throat. "I won't."

"You wouldn't really be killing me, anyway," his dear, dear little brother's voice spoke quietly, tremulously, from the steel interior of a different body, but the same, beautiful soul. "I'm just a b-box, right?"

No.

No.

_No. You've got it all wrong. You never were._

…or was he right? Was this still his imagination…? When did the lines between reality and dream become so blurred? When could Edward not tell anymore?

"Incinerate your companion cube."

The shaking started again.

"…do it, Brother. I'm not…I'm not y-your A-Alphonse. I'm just…something of your i-imagination. Like you said."

"No…"

"Brother."

Silence.

"…this is what I want."

The grey cold numbness overtook Edward again.

"…okay."

It seemed so light. So oddly less heavy than before as he hefted it up to the ring and then pushed it into the fire below.

And when it was over, Edward stared for a long time at the closed incineration chamber, ignoring the click and the slide of the round door opening behind him. It was strange, really—because he thought he'd feel guilt. He thought he'd be so overwhelmed with this sickening black-tar essence in his stomach, clogging up his arteries, that he'd scream and choke and might possibly die.

But as it was, he felt nothing—except for the cold trails of somethings that continue to drip from his eyes in constant, blurry torrents that made it so hard to see and focus and even hear himself think.

He waited and waited for the guilt to come, but something must've been wrong with him, because it never did.

"You euthanized your faithful companion cube more quickly than any test subject on record. Congratulations."

Oh.

Edward awkwardly cleared his searing, aching throat.

There…there it was.

He slid to his knees and bowed his head against the cool grey rim of the thing that burned what may have been his brother, thinking his flesh hand was just a bit too white.

* * *

Rattman had finally got it right.

Mustang panted from the effort after exiting the incineration chamber, and plopped the slightly-burnt companion cube down on the walkway, retrieved at last. In retrospect, it had been a really stupid, rash plan—rushing head first into a furnace—but it also, had been the only thing they could think of, since Rattman kept swearing that _it _would happen soon. (Whatever _it _was.)

And although he was uncomfortable with the man—especially because of Chell's reaction to him—part of him also knew the ex-scientist was trustworthy. He had, after all, suggested that he and Mustang continue on to get the cube and subsequently, the radio, while Havoc and Winry helped settle Chell down, which was a smart move in and of itself, since Chell seemed completely and mentally incapacitated by Rattman's very presence.

He also _had _known what he was talking about, regarding _it._

_It _did happen soon.

And Mustang was trying to work out why Edward's silence after the deed had been done was so unnerving.

(Perhaps because that way, he could not tell what the kid was doing. If he had screamed—sure—at least that would be a form of venting which Edward usually participated in violently, and that would at least be something reminiscent of the Fullmetal Alchemist they all knew. But to have the kid quiet? No sound? No noise? Just…silence? That was different. That was off. That was wrong.)

Mustang, propelled, almost turned back around and re-entered the furnace, willing to climb up and grab the kid to sneak him under to the insides of the Aperture Laboratories. As it was, however, both he and Rattman knew that was a bad idea.

As long as GLaDOS had her eye on Edward, they, themselves, could move about undetected. It was that kind of advantage that they couldn't afford to lose.

"Besides," Rattman consoled and frustrated Lieutenant Colonel. "It'll be over soon. There's only two more chambers, and then he's finished. We can pull him out then—and I know the way there—so we'll get there in no time. All right?"

Mustang, with a crowbar they had found, pried open the lid of the companion cube roughly. "As long as we get him out _soon. _I don't like him in there, Rattman. At all."

"I-I know…" the ex-scientist's face saddened. "Neither do I. Trust me."

The Lieutenant Colonel nodded briefly, curtly—although part of him still really didn't—and pulled the returned walkie-talkie up to his lips, calling out, "Hawkeye. Alphonse. Breda. Do you read me? Over."

Breda's voice responded. "Sir! Good—Hawkeye said you might be able to get it if it went through the incinerator—although how she's confident of these things, I'll never know—but hey. Whatever. You got the radio back. Good. Great. That mean you got the boss, too?"

Alphonse's voice was quick to add, "Please say he's with you, Lieutenant Colonel!"

Mustang swallowed. He couldn't respond immediately, and pulled the device from his lips with a laden ache among his hand and forearm. _It is times like this that make me hate my job… _But he was a soldier, and soldiers knew how to break bad news to family. "I apologize, Alphonse. We were not able to get Ed. Repeat, we don't have the Fullmetal Alchemist. We have to wait for two more chambers yet until we can pull him out."

"Why?" Alphonse's voice was quick to screech, but Hawkeye spoke over him.

"Understood, sir. What would you like our course of action to be?"

Mustang nodded to himself, thanking the heavens once more for a lieutenant like Hawkeye. "Stand-by. We have the situation under control for now. However, I do believe we'll be setting free some other test subjects soon. Prepare helicopters and evacuation vehicles for a large population of people who may or may not have brain traumas."

"Copy that. Will do. How many are you expecting to need transportation?"

"Around sixty, Lieutenant. Prepare for a few more, just in case."

"Understood. And how are you holding up, sir?"

Leave it to Hawkeye to sense a distress of any kind. Mustang sighed long and heavy, reaching up a hand to rub some creases in his forehead away. The corner of his eye caught sight of the 'companion cube,' and he couldn't help but hate it instinctively. "It's not me I'm worried about, Lieutenant. You know that."

Hawkeye sighed back gently over the line. "Right. But be careful, sir. It goes without saying, but we don't need two alchemists undergoing mental duress that will take recovery."

"I know. I'll be careful."

"Good."

Mustang let his hand fall to his side.

* * *

**Test Subject: **Edward Elric  
**Day: **4  
**Time:** 8:49 p.m.  
**Location: **Test Chamber 17  
**Testing Progress: **Has Successfully Incinerated Companion Cube  
_ -Aperture Laboratories_

* * *

**Crystal's Notes: **This...was so hard to write. ;A; I literally spent all day pouring over this chapter from top to bottom, writing it out, re-writing sections (especially that huge middle, dramatic part that I have taken to calling The Scene, because it's just so critical), and then finally had part of it beta'd by a lovely, lovely friend while Elsa is out at a convention. 8D See if you guys can find her, btw! If you're at a convention, ask around for one fanfiction author named Elsa and ask for her autograph. That'd be awesome. (Hee hee.)

So anyway, my friends aside, I hope this chapter was all that you guys were hoping for. ;A; I know I built up so much tension for The Scene, and I just...I really hope all the feels came across. It's meant to be awkward and unorthodox, because by this point, none of Edward's reactions to anything will be normal. He's far too gone for normal reasonings and responses. So. ;A; Poor fellow.

Thank you EVERYONE who has reviewed, favorited, and followed so far! You're my shining stars, and I'm continuing this all because of you guys! Stick with me until the end-you all know there's not much more to go through from here!

Have a wonderful day!


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